


Danger Days

by FredAndGinger, SpinalBaby



Series: Danger Days [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Canon-Typical Violence, Future Fic, Graffiti, Hurt/Comfort, I promise, I swear, Laser Guns, Like laugh your ass off funny, Memory Loss, Multi, Plus you get to watch these idiots fall in love, Post-Apocalypse, This is really good guys, Update every other day, What's not to like?, and also like sad, but in a good way, but not like zombies, shower scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-22 14:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 53,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6082959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FredAndGinger/pseuds/FredAndGinger, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpinalBaby/pseuds/SpinalBaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mysterious graffiti artist R is dragged into a resistance group when his cellmate in a reconditioning facility, Bossuet, was rescued. Faced with memory loss, a beautiful and familiar leader, and a rag-tag band of rebels living in the wastelands outside of the post apocalyptic city of New Paris (formerly known as Las Vegas), how can anything possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Look Alive, Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> Updates every other day~!
> 
> References for the character designs [here](https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/ueO6u0geIlJ19oHR8ibcqqiES7EsFVMaZrzMvxyrNTKgPed-j1r39Xxo_cPxvgbHuDyG27BGS5--n4l1OLpI=w1366-h637-rw) and the locations/other material [here](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1V3hRfCAN11W8ov0Gs1yGsVTop-iwrfcskAEHkvQXoTc/edit) so please check those out~
> 
> Art  
> [Danger Days Sketch Dump](http://spinalbaby.tumblr.com/post/140306823949/a-shitty-little-sketch-dump-from-danger-days-a) by SpinalBaby  
> [Planetary GO!](http://spinalbaby.tumblr.com/post/139777629519/a-piece-of-art-from-fredandginger-and-my-newest) by SpinalBaby  
> [Broom Closet Meetings](http://spinalbaby.tumblr.com/post/140395296094/the-trio-having-their-secret-revolutionary) by SpinalBaby  
> [Danger Days Couples (And Trio) Sketch Dump](http://spinalbaby.tumblr.com/post/140602046934/a-sketch-dump-of-the-couples-and-trio-in-danger) by SpinalBaby  
> [Commando Sketch Dump](http://spinalbaby.tumblr.com/post/140723443909/after-drawing-all-the-couples-sketches-of-the-amis) by SpinalBaby  
> [Thank you for over 1,000 hits~!](http://spinalbaby.tumblr.com/post/141344879629/i-wanted-to-do-a-little-celebratory-sketch-for) by SpinalBaby  
> [Courfeyrac Sketch Dump](http://spinalbaby.tumblr.com/post/141446829979/courfeyrac-sketch-dump-from-fredandginger-and-my) by SpinalBaby  
> [The Amis](http://spinalbaby.tumblr.com/post/143019710169/after-twelve-hours-of-work-and-so-many-references) by SpinalBaby  
> [Pew Pew Motherfucker](http://spinalbaby.tumblr.com/post/145485568139/so-when-writing-fanfic-at-3am-on-a-weeknight-with) by SpinalBaby  
> [Holy Fuck](http://novartss.tumblr.com/post/145521736063/this-fucking-meme-kept-showing-up-on-my-dash-and-i) by Novartss  
> [Siblings](http://novartss.tumblr.com/post/145534772643/okay-im-done-now-i-just-really-wanted-to-draw) by Novartss  
> [Regret](http://novartss.tumblr.com/post/145941422673/if-u-want-context-ask-spinalbaby-and) by Novartss  
> [The OT3](http://novartss.tumblr.com/post/147458708358/i-just-wanted-an-excuse-to-doodle-the-trio-and-i) by Novartss  
> 

Art Credit [Infinite-Mirrors](http://infinite-mirrors.tumblr.com/)

_“Airing live from the wastelands this is Jehan with Les Amis here to bring you our fearless leader, brighter than the desert sun, Enjolras. But first, the weather. Out here in the wastelands things sure are heating up at a blazing 112 degrees so leave your jackets at home.”_

“They’ll be here any minute.” Bossuet said, pacing around the room he shared with his cellmate. 

“Uh huh.” Prisoner 82473 said. He was laid back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Bossuet had been saying this all day. And yesterday. And the day before that. 

“I’m serious!” Bossuet said. Prisoner 82473 looked up at him. The new guy was generally pretty laid back, this sudden insistence was a new thing. Bossuet looked a little taken aback at himself.

“I mean, I just know is all.” He said, softer this time. He sat on the bed and stared at the door. 

“How do you know?” Prisoner 82473 asked. Bossuet looked over, surprised. The only other thing his cellmate had said to him was his number (which he promptly forgot) when Bossuet asked him four days ago. 

“I just… we made this promise that if one of us got captured, they shouldn’t expect to be rescued.” Bossuet said, in way of explanation. 

“And that… reassures you?” 82473 asked, raising an eyebrow. Well, what would have been an eyebrow. Tomorrow Comes Industries had a strict hygiene policy that meant no one was allowed any body hair. Bossuet had been sad to see what little he still had fall to the cutting room floor. 

“Of course! My girlfriend insisted that the most, so I’m sure she’ll be here!”

Prisoner 82473 frowned. He thought Bossuet was talking about having a boyfriend earlier, but maybe he had just zoned him out too hard. 

_“Look alive New Paris, it’s Enjolras here on 107.5 TFII. I’m here to bring you the latest traffic and to ask you all to wish a little luck to my friends heading out to the city today. One unlucky man is about to get very lucky with a one-way ticket back to the wastelands.”_

“Sweetie, can you drive any faster?” Musichetta asked, looking over at Joly, who was narrowly avoiding boulders in the road. 

“Courf didn’t give us the good car, he thought that if we left it with the Patron Minette they’d strip it for parts or something, babe. This thing is a piece of shit.” 

_“I heard that.”_ Courfeyrac said over the radio. 

“Finally! Communication, back online. Thank the lord. Hallelujah.” Musichetta said, “Where the fuck are we going?” 

_“Take a left at that old abandoned Pink Motel and there should be a strip club around the corner somewhere.”_ Courfeyrac said, his voice beginning to cut out a little again at the end. 

“A strip club?” 

… 

“What are you doing?” Bossuet asked as his cellmate hunted around his bed for something. 

“Patience.” 82473 said, lifting a corner of the mattress and pricking himself on the pin he was trying to find. Perfect. He took the pin out and jammed it into his index finger, causing blood to drip down. 

“What the fuck?” Bossuet murmured, more to himself than to the other man. 

Prisoner 82473 didn’t answer, opting to turn towards the blank, white wall behind his bed. He began to paint with the blood, small strokes, pausing every once in a while to squeeze more blood from his poor finger. 

Bossuet watched in awe as the other man worked. He had shown no signs of rebellion this whole time, sitting contentedly in his bed and leaving with the doctors whenever they asked him to, to go god-knows-where. He knew the other prisoner was in there for a reason, obviously, but now it made a little more sense. 

Prisoner 82473 stepped back from his masterpiece to let Bossuet admire it. He’d never had anyone to share these things with, at least no one he remembered. He didn’t remember much of anything. 

He did remember enough to sign his work with a large, flourishing R. 

Bossuet inhaled sharply. He knew that art, he knew that signature. The same painting, large scale and in colors not white and red, had been painted on the back of the local teenage hangout in town before he ran away from the city, leaving New Paris for the freedom of the wasteland. 

This was the mysterious and missing R. No wonder no one had known where he went, he was captive this whole time. 

“Who is that?” Bossuet finally asked. 

Prisoner 82473, R, looked back at his painting of a man, hair wild, his fist held to the sky. 

“Justice.” 

_“Justice will be served to the pigs in New Paris with their shitty pills and perfect society. We want free will! We want freedom! Here’s to the dawning of a new era, mon Amis. We will rise up and we will take back what what was stolen from us. Give us the freedom of expression so we can paint our worlds with the vibrance of days past!”_

“I can’t fucking believe they live in a strip club.” Joly whispered to Musichetta after they snuck past a particularly intimidating guard on their way to Bossuet’s room. Marius had told them what room he should be in after hacking into the prisoner database, so they didn’t have to worry about breaking down all the doors on their way in. 

“I mean, this is Montparnasse we’re talking about.” Musichetta responded, signalling Joly to wait for her to check if the coast was clear. They were deep enough into the building that the whole “sneaking with a cane” thing was getting difficult, but he was managing pretty well. 

Musichetta signaled for him to join her across the hallway and he rushed over. She pointed to the door a few feet away. That was it. 

“Bossuet, you better be ready to run.” Musichetta muttered under her breath, raising her leg to kick the door down. 

… 

Prisoner 82473 jumped when a door suddenly came crashing down to the floor. Bossuet didn’t even look phased. 

“They’re here!” He squealed joyfully, throwing his arms around a tall, curvy woman wearing a masquerade mask, who marched into the room. A shorter, asian man with a leg brace, hospital mask, and cane followed soon after her, and Bossuet hugged him fiercely as well. 

“What?” Prisoner 82473 asked weakly. Bossuet glanced over. The mild shock on his face was the most expression he’d seen the man display the whole time he was there. 

“Guys, we’ve got to get out of here. The alarms’ll start off any second.” Joly said, glancing at the door-less doorway. 

As if on cue, the alarms blared, washing the room in red lighting.

“We’ve gotta go!” Musichetta said, grabbing Bossuet’s hand. Bossuet, however, stood his ground. 

“We’re taking him with us.” He said, pointing to Prisoner 82473. 

“Why?” Joly asked, looking impatient. 

“Why?” 82473 echoed. 

“He’s R, guys!” Bossuet said, gesturing at the blood painting still on the wall. 

“Who the fuck is R?” Musichetta asked, while Joly nodded in understanding. 

“I’ll explain when we get out of here!” Bossuet said, exasperated. 

“Fine, come on.” Musichetta said, continuing out the door. 

Prisoner 82473 stood still. 

“Come on, man! They’re not going to wait for you!” Bossuet called as Musichetta dragged him out of the room. 

82473 looked at his bed, thinking for a moment of just sitting down and waiting for some guards to come and set everything right in the world again. Then he glanced back at his painting, dark red bathed in red lights. 

He ran after them.


	2. Na Na Na

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R meets the famous Enjolras and joins the Amis.

_“It’s pathetic to see what we’ve become so dependent on these drugs that Tomorrow Comes shoves down the masses’ throats like giving head to The Man.”_

“Hurry the fuck up, ‘R’!” Musichetta shouted over her shoulder. She was the head of the pack, running with her arms full of pill bottles. Bossuet was tripping over her heels and Joly was a close third, leaving R struggling to keep up behind them. 

He never ran before in his life, not that he could remember. He’d also never seen as many pills at once as he was carrying in his arms. This was a day of new experiences. 

Dr. Cubac was going to be so mad when R inevitably got brought back here. He dreaded the thought. 

There was a car waiting for them outside of the building, charred black in places from laser gun blasts, surrounded by dead Operatives. Operatives were who the guards called in when R was being especially resistant, but that didn’t seem to happen much these days. 

“Get in!” A man in a leather jacket yelled from the front seat. R’s companions dove into the backseat, and R shrugged internally before doing the same. 

The door wasn’t even closed before they were driving, squishing the passengers in the backseat as they all struggled to close the door. 

After everyone struggled up into a sitting position and had deposited their pill bottles into a bag that the huge, silent man in the front passenger seat gave them, the girl turned to face R. 

“I’m Musichetta!” She said cheerfully, grinning, “Who the fuck are you even?” 

“I’m Prisoner 82473.” R said automatically, “I mean, I’m R.” 

“Yeah, I got that. But like, who are you?” She asked. 

R shrugged helplessly. 

“He was an artist in the North Sector of New Paris when we were kids.” The asian guy said, “I’m Joly, by the way.” 

“Yeah, he was a huge inspiration. He used to paint these huge murals on the back of the ping-pong place.” Bossuet added. 

“I think I heard Enjolras talk about that once or twice.” Musichetta admitted, giving R an appraising look. 

R shrugged again to illustrate just how confused he actually was. He glanced up at the windshield to see the outside world. He hadn’t seen any of this before, and it was all so fascinating, but familiar in the wierdest way. Like the memory was just too far out of his reach for his fingertips to even grasp, but close enough to try to reach for. 

They were headed straight for a wall, one of the walls surrounding the city. The New Paris Operatives were silently following their car, sirens not needed for this situation. R cringed internally in anticipation for the inevitable crash, but it never happened. They seemed to just phase through the wall. 

The sound of crunching metal followed them out of the city. R gave what he thought was a questioning look, but ended up being more of a blank stare, to Bossuet. 

“They’ve got holograms in the walls for when Operatives need to leave the city, but Montparnasse has the override codes for a couple of them, so he can bring up the walls and pull them down.” Bossuet explained after a moment of silence. 

R nodded. 

“Hey, we’ve got radio again.” The man driving said. 

“Aw sweet, Babet. Put on the show!” Musichetta said, catching the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror and grinning. 

“Man, I don’t want to listen to that bullshit.” Babet complained, “You hear it every day.” 

“I mean it’s either that or New Paris Radio Report.” Joly said. No one wanted to listen to that, it was just test signals, news updates, and weather reports. 

“Yeah, and Jehan might have made Enj take a music break by now.” Bossuet added. 

Babet muttered something under his breath about how shitty Jehan’s taste in music was, but turned on the radio anyways. Electric guitar filled the car, the half broken speakers shuddering with a pounding bassline. 

R had never heard anything like this before. The only “music” he could remember experiencing was the little four note hum of one of the testing machines starting up in the labs in Tomorrow Comes Industries. 

R passed the rest of the journey in silence, listening to his new companions talk and the staticky music. This was a little too much for him all at once. 

They arrived at a pink building, where Babet and the giant got out of the car, Babet yelling that it was “A pleasure doing business with you!” while Musichetta and Joly got into the front seats. Musichetta flipped them off. 

“Alright, let’s get home.” Musichetta said, driving off. 

R looked up from where he was staring out the window to glance at Bossuet, who was currently being made fun of for his lack of eyebrows by Joly. 

“Just give me back my mask!” Bossuet demanded, laughing. Joly threw it at him and he pulled it over his face. It was bright blue and covered his smooth head, ending at his nose, with two eyeholes. 

R stared at him again in an attempt to make him explain. 

“We wear these masks to hide our identity.” Bossuet said, noticing R’s look. “I mean, when you forget your mask on your bed it doesn’t help at all, but you know.” 

R didn’t really know, but he didn’t say anything. 

“He doesn’t talk much, does he?” Musichetta asked, looking at them in the backseat. R shrugged again. 

“Not really.” Bossuet answered, “It’s probably the drugs though.” 

“Yeah.” Musichetta said, and the conversation continued, but R just zoned it out. 

They eventually stopped in front of a run down old saloon from the olden days, before New Paris was constructed. As it came up on the horizon, Bossuet explained that someone named Valjean had told them that it was “made to look old” and that buildings didn’t really look like that in the olden days normally. R didn’t really care, but it was nice to know.

“Welcome to your home in the wastelands, the Musain.” Joly said grandly, holding his arms out in a sweeping gesture as R got out of the car. He gave the building an appraising look. It looked worse than anything he’d ever seen in his life. He loved it. 

Musichetta guided them into the saloon, holding onto Joly’s arm to support him a little. All the running had done a number on his leg, but he had insisted on saving Bossuet and he’d have been damned if he let his leg ruin it. 

“We’ll have to be kind of quiet, Enjolras is broadcasting in here.” Bossuet said as they entered the building. 

The saloon was just as shitty looking on the inside as it was on the outside. Through an open door, R could see a makeshift radio setup. The man speaking had his back turned to them, but R could see his golden hair and bright red jacket. 

“And we’ll fight for our future and the future of all those who come after us! Rise up with me and come to the wastelands. These fuckers think they can control us with their pills and endless mindless agenda to fill up your days. Those of you listening from the city and out here in Hell with us- join the revolution! We’re changing the god damned world!” 

“I mean, everybody wants to change the world.” R said, stepping forward. The man stiffened at the sound of his voice, “But no one is willing to die for it. And that’s what you’re asking them to do. Die for it.” 

Enjolras spun around, turning to face the unfamiliar voice, still clutching his microphone, “Excuse me?” The man had the most irritated look on his face, his blue eyes colder than the wastelands at night. 

Something about the man was weird to R, like the memory just out of reach. R didn’t know how he could possibly have a memory of someone that beautiful though, unless he had met the sun in person in a past life.

“I heard you on the drive over, you think that people will just throw down their meds and join hands and start singing or something, but that’s not realistic.” R said, crossing his arms, “You talk like the wasteland is some peaceful oasis, but I’ve been here for like an hour tops and I’ve already seen how drug dependent your little friends are.” 

“Our _friends_?” Enjolras hissed, “Those _friends_ work for Tomorrow Comes, we were only working with them to get that unlucky bastard over there who seems to have saved your sorry ass along the way. I don’t appreciate you waltzing in here like you have any idea what the fuck is going on.”

From the corner of the bar, working with some intimidating looking sound equipment, a ginger boy with a long braid poked his head out, watching with a raised brow. “Ladies, we are on air you know…”

“I know!” Enjolras shouted.

“Ladies?” R asked, looking over at the ginger who gave him a knowing look. R still didn’t know. “My point still stands. You’re working with them. If your convictions were strong enough you’d find another way. I’m not judging you, but you shouldn’t disrespect your audience by lying to them.” 

“Disrespect? What do you know know about disrespect?” Enjolras’ voice wavered as he took a few slow steps forward, “Disrespect is what they’ve done to you, and to all those people in the city- in the wastelands…” His voice was no longer loud, but firm and seeping in rage, “So please, say that again.”

“You shouldn’t disrespect your audience by lying to them.” R repeated obstinately. Behind him, he heard Bossuet give a half stunned laugh. “There’s more than one kind of disrespect, and if you want to gain any actual respect or followers for this asinine plan of yours, you’ll have to tell them the actual truth, not your idealized nonsense.” 

While R talked Enjolras grew more and more upset, to the point where his fists were visibly trembling in rage. As soon as R finished his sentence, without hesitation, the blond threw a punch, landing directly in the center of R’s face. There was a sickening crunch and blood sprayed all over the cynic’s face and the revolutionary’s hand.

“Oh shit!” Jehan tried to conceal a laugh, aware it was inappropriate, “You knocked him out!” The redhead quickly took them off the air, rushing over to the new man who was lying on the ground. 

“...Fuck.” Enjolras wiped a bit of sweat from his brow, smearing a bit of R’s blood on his forehead. “Whoops.”

…

R awoke a few minutes later, lying on the ground where he had fallen. He was confused, squinting up at the ceiling. This wasn’t his cell… where was he? Hot pain radiated through his face and he scrunched up his eyes as tears threatened to fall. He couldn’t let the doctors see him cry, they’d think the meds weren’t working again. 

“Hey, he’s waking up!” a slightly familiar voice said. He opened his eyes just a crack and saw a familiar bald head. He was definitely still in his cell. 

Memories rushed back to him and he wondered if this was some sort of sick joke, some weird hallucination that Dr. Cubac had dreamed up. 

“Hey, can you open your eyes, buddy?” Bossuet asked. R wanted to shake his head like a child, but he obediently opened his eyes. 

He was in the room where he argued with the beautiful man. So it wasn’t a hallucination. Or at least the hallucination was much longer than he expected. 

“Oh good, I didn’t want to do this when you were asleep.” Joly said. R sat up, pain somehow shooting to other parts of his body from his nose. It felt like his nose was the center of the universe and that universe was nothing but pain. 

“What?” He asked, and Joly held up a rock and a flat piece of wood. This only raised more questions. 

“I’m going to set your nose.” Joly said, causing R’s eyes to widen. 

“Wait, are you a doctor?” He asked, his voice distorted to his ears by pain, blood, and broken bone. 

“Not technically. But mostly? I don’t have a medical license, but I’m the most qualified guy in the wastelands.” Joly replied. 

“Why don’t you just… do the normal thing?” R asked, trying not to move his face too much as he spoke. 

“The normal thing?” Joly asked, looking at him like he was crazy. 

“Get knocked out and wake up with it fine in the morning like nothing happened?” R asked. Joly shook his head. 

“Sorry man, out here we don’t have that kind of fancy technology. Out here we have rocks and sticks. Now close your eyes and don’t move too much if you want your nose straight again.” 

… 

About 20 minutes later, R had a splint put on his nose and had been given painkillers, so Enjolras decided it was time to question him. 

He had gone to his room to avoid everyone after R passed out, so he hadn’t gotten to question Bossuet, Joly, or Musichetta on why he was even here, but it didn’t matter, he could ask the man now. 

Enjolras sighed as he walked down the hall, opening the door to Marius’ room where they had decided to put up R. The socially awkward techie was trying to explain French to R, who seemed less than interested given his current state. 

Enjolras cleared his throat, getting their attention, “Marius, go get Ferre and Feuilly.” 

“Okay, but I was right in the middle of telling him about how the French alphabet worked.” Marius complained, getting up to go do what he was told. 

Enjolras rolled his eyes, “Does he look like he gives a shit?” He asked, motioning to the newcomer who was still holding his nose, looking up at the two blankly. “Go.” He crossed his arms as Marius left. “So.” Enjolras began, “Sorry. About the nose thing.” 

R continued to look at him blankly, not responding. 

“Wow… uh… pretty quiet for a guy who couldn’t shut up an hour ago…” Enjolras looked a bit uncomfortable to be stared at for so long, especially with R as expressionless as he was. “So, who are you even? Getting locked up with Bossuet must make you pretty high up on the wanted list.” He moved to sit down on the ground across from R.

“Prisoner 82473.” R said. The painkillers had seemed to trigger something in his mind, the residue of the contentment medication he had been given at noon with Bossuet was reacting with it, leaving him less than responsive. 

“Don’t you have a real name?” Enjolras studied the man carefully. Something seemed oddly familiar about him, “Bossuet wouldn’t insist upon jeopardizing a rescue mission over just anyone.” 

R shrugged. He didn’t know if he had a real name, and from the sound of names he’d heard, R wasn’t a real one either. 

“Huh.” Enjolras sighed, “Looks like you’re too spaced out to answer.” He started to get up to leave when Combeferre and Feuilly came in. 

“You wanted to see us, boss?” Feuilly asked, glancing over at R. “Wow, Jehan wasn’t kidding, you really did fuck up his face.” 

“Sorry, just needed someone to make sure I didn’t throttle him again.” Enjolras waved them off, walking past, “He’s not in a very talkative mood anymore so you can go back to whatever.”

“I was interested in what Marius was saying.” R said, surprising the others, who turned to look at him, “Before. When you told him I wasn’t.” 

Combeferre raised an eyebrow at Enjolras. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” Enjolras looked more guilty than he had since this whole ordeal started, “He just seemed out of it so I figured Marius was just doing that rambling thing again.”

“I’m not out of it,” R lied, “I know what you’re saying, it’s just all coming in kind of…” He paused for a long moment, contemplating his next word. “Slow.” 

“Well, slow questioning is better than no questioning.” Combeferre said, taking a seat on the ground. Feuilly followed suit, leaving Enjolras to either stand awkwardly or take a seat.

Enjolras groaned, sitting down on the ground in between the two, “So. A name.” 

There was a short pause as R seemed to think about the question. 

“I told you, Prisoner 82473.” R said, feeling a little irritated internally, but not vocalizing it. 

“Oh my god!” Enjolras huffed, burying his face in his hands. He let out a long, drawn-out sigh before Feuilly put his hand on his shoulder.

“Okay, that’s fine.” Feuilly said, trying to sound comforting and diplomatic and mostly succeeding. “Bossuet must have wanted you to come here for a reason, why did he bring you?” 

“I drew him a picture.” R said after a long moment, shrugging. “He said it was... important.” 

“You drew a picture.” Enjolras stated flatly, “Bossuet has lost his fucking mind. I have to go do things. Infinitely more important things, right now.” Enjolras started to get up before his taller friend, Combeferre, pushed him gently back down by the shoulder.

“So you’re an artist.” Combeferre said, “Do you think you can draw us that picture again?” 

Feuilly, following Combeferre’s train of thought, got up and grabbed one of Marius’s notebooks and a pen off of a box that served as a table-thing. He opened to a blank page (passing a page with nothing but Cosette’s name with hearts around it). 

R nodded, slowly taking the paper and pen. They watched him draw in silence, though Enjolras tried to get up a couple times, only to be thwarted by Combeferre and Feuilly. 

When he finally finished drawing, R wordlessly passed the notebook to the three of them. Feuilly looked mildly confused, Combeferre glanced back up at R, then back at the page, like he couldn’t quite believe that R was the one who drew it, and Enjolras took one look at the picture, before staring up at R with hard eyes. 

“You’re R?” Combeferre asked finally, “ _The_ R?” 

“That’s what Bossuet said.” R said after another long pause, “I’m not really sure who that is.” 

“How are you not sure?” Enjolras said at length. 

“I don’t… I can’t remember anything since… I don’t know when.” R said, struggling to remember, “I… all I remember is drawing that picture. Somewhere it’s in full color, larger than life. But I don’t know where.” 

“Behind the ping-pong building in the North Sector of the city.” Combeferre supplied. R shook his head. 

“Bossuet said that too, but… I still don’t remember. Those words mean nothing to me. All I remember is the facility.”

“Why did they keep you there so long, do you know?” Feuilly asked, “Usually after kids graffiti or whatever, they just brainwash you and release you back into the general population.” 

“I had a… resistance to the medication. They used to parade all these important sounding people in front of me to show they were making progress or something, but I don’t really remember.” R said. He frowned, showing more emotion than he had through most of the exchange. “Sorry.” 

Enjolras held the drawing in his hands, looking down at it, then back up at R. Could it…? He didn’t want to believe it, but this style… the signature… it was _his_. “Well.” He drew in a breath, taking the picture, folding it up, and shoving it in his pocket, “This is proof enough. Welcome to Les Amis. Try not to talk while I’m on air.” Enjolras got up, the others no longer trying to stop him. “Combeferre… you should make him something to make the withdrawal a little easier.” Enjolras left the room.

“Wow. He must really like you.” Feuilly chuckled, “Otherwise he’d have let you suffer with a clear conscience.” The short, curly-haired ginger smiled at him. “I’m Feuilly, by the way. Stay away from the big bear, Bahorel. He’s mine.” 

Feuilly walked out of the room, leaving R with Combeferre. 

“So, how about we get you some meds?” Combeferre offered, before hearing R’s stomach growl. “Wait, actually, we should get some food into you. Withdrawal meds on an empty stomach are a bitch.” 

…

R was in heaven. 

He’d never had real food, that he could remember. At the facility they had only really fed him a cocktail of pills at 8 am, noon, and 8 pm every day, and those pills had some sort of meal replacement thing in them. 

Combeferre had apologized for the food, it was technically dog chow. They were low on funds since they had just depleted their reserves paying the Patron Minette to let them into the city, so they were going to have to make do with what was available. 

R didn’t even know what Combeferre was talking about. The food was great. It had a taste. And that taste was called amazing. 

“Wow, slow down.” Courfeyrac said, sitting across from R. “Didn’t they ever feed you?” 

R shook his head, “Not technically.” He said after he swallowed the food in his mouth. He felt a little better just after having eaten something, his head a tiny bit more clear.

“What?” 

“Meal replacement pills.” Bossuet said, coming up from nowhere and sitting next to R. Marius sat on his other side, putting down a French book. “They tasted like shit though and you never felt full.”

“So I was thinking that maybe we could find you a name.” Marius said, looking at his book, “All of our names have French origins for some reason, so I was thinking you might want a similar one? Oh and Feuilly told me that we’re roommates now.” 

…

By the end of dinner, R had a plan to go training with Feuilly for the next day, a promise from Jehan to find him some new clothes (he was still in the facility uniform of a “Tomorrow Comes” t shirt, black shorts, and white tube socks), and he had a new name. Grantaire. 

After Marius had suggested it jokingly and Bossuet had informed him that it was a pun, something inside R just loved the sound of it. And thus, new name. 

Grantaire smiled up at the ceiling as he listened to Marius snore next to him on the bed. If this was a hallucination, he hoped that his heart gave out before he woke up. 

… 

One month had passed since Grantaire had come to live with them, and he had come a long way. His hair was growing back into a fuzz all over his head, and after being out in the sun for a day he had burned pretty spectacularly, before becoming very tan. He’d gained some muscle mass from training with Feuilly, as well as some skills with lasers and his fists. 

Jehan had indeed taken him shopping, but more often than not he preferred his old uniform shirt, paired with a jacket and jeans though. He told Bossuet and Joly that it was ironic, but Enjolras suspected that he had some nostalgia for the only life he’d known before the Amis. 

Withdrawal had been hard on everyone, but they got through it. Grantaire had gained a lot of personality in the few weeks he’d been out of the city, but sometimes he seemed to sink back into his former, withdrawn self. Combeferre said it should pass with time, but it might be a permanent thing, since they did use some pretty heavy mind-altering drugs on him for a long period of time. 

He hadn’t gained back any of his memories, which upset Enjolras more than he cared to admit, but he still had hope. If he was any less hopeful, he wouldn’t have survived out here this long.


	3. Bulletproof Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire goes on his first mission and royally fucks up. Eponine to the rescue.

It had been four months since Grantaire had joined Les Amis, and he had fit in surprisingly well. He was a pretty good shot with a laser gun, and after he had built up some strength he had a pretty good punch. He was witty in a cynical way, something that Bossuet and Joly only seemed to encourage with their terrible sense of jokes, much to Enjolras’s chagrin. 

After withdrawal, he had begun to argue more and more with Enjolras, and he actually brought up some good points (at least, the other Amis thought so. Enjolras continued to think he was just being a dick). One in a while, Grantaire would have moments where he forgot where he was, but it was never anything drastic, just asking where his medication was or going dead silent in Combeferre’s lab. 

With Grantaire’s permission, Combeferre had started some testing on him two months ago, trying to find a way to combat the contentment drugs from Tomorrow Comes Industries. Testing was generally just consisted of painlessly taking blood from him or injecting him with something and then taking the blood, so that Combeferre could test whatever he concocted later on rats, but even though the lab was drastically different, sometimes it made Grantaire forget where he was. 

The flashbacks generally stopped as soon as Jehan or someone said something to him. Once in awhile they’d last a bit longer and he’d only respond to the name Prisoner 82473, but those instances were few and far between. Besides, Valjean had reassured them over the radio one day, (after Enjolras called him privately, worried) those things just happened every so often and they just had to deal with it. The man started sending Cosette over more and more often, she was especially good with handling Grantaire, and it made Marius happy, so Enjolras couldn’t really say anything. 

Feuilly had talked to Enjolras and they decided that Grantaire was ready for his first mission. He’d gone along on errands with the others every once in awhile, but a trip to Thenardier’s Slightly Legal Shop was not really a dangerous, goal oriented mission. Enjolras had agreed to send him on a mission, but not until after shower day. 

The Amis had a limited amount of water to waste. Most of it went to drinking, and some of it was routed to Montparnasse in exchange for extra electricity, which they needed for the radio show. It was fine, they had all these “shower in a can” things to use, which were actually extremely effective. Every other month, however, they were supposed to take a shower to clean all of the chemicals off their skin, just so that they didn’t get cancer or something. They’d missed last shower day due to a high profile mission most of the Amis had been on. Also the spray on showers had kind of a light blue tint, so if you went way too long without a wash you ended up looking like you were dying of hypothermia in the desert.

Soon the month’s fateful ‘shower day’ had come and Grantaire was dragged out of the saloon by Jehan, “Come on Grantaire, it’s shower day. We need to hurry up before the guys use the cool water. The water gets hot really quickly outside.” 

“I’m fine, why can’t we just use one of the shower-in-a-can things?” Grantaire asked, not too thrilled at the idea of any of it. Showers at the facility had mostly consisted of five minutes of awkwardly standing there while soapy water was blasted at him, and he didn’t envision that it would be any more fun out here with nine other guys. 

“What are you talking about? Shower day is the best! You actually get to feel real cool water on your skin and get all those chemicals off of it.” Jehan said, leading him around to the back of the building. 

The scene behind the building was that of complete chaos. Most of the men had already stripped down, with the exception of Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac, who had also just arrived outside. Joly, Bossuet, and Marius were hanging buckets with holes in the bottom on the side of the building, feeding through a hose into each. It all seemed much more pleasant than a facility shower already, if it weren’t for Bahorel, chasing Feuilly with one of the hoses in hand, spraying everyone else as he ran past them. Musichetta was reprimanding the naked duo for wasting water. She was sitting in front of a large basin of water already starting to wash the clothes.

“We’re having a little fun!” Bahorel laughed as Enjolras got pelted with a bash of water that left him looking like an angry, sopping wet cat. He looked beyond irritated as he shouted at Bahorel to cut it out. 

“Well.” Grantaire said, surveying the scene, “This is new.” Grantaire said, “Can’t I just like keep on my clothes? They’ll get clean under the water anyways.”

“Hand them over.” Musichetta said, holding out her hand. 

Grantaire sighed and started to take off his clothes. When he got down to his boxers he heard Enjolras make a choked noise in the background, but he figured that it was because Bahorel hit him with water again. 

“What was that?” Combeferre raised an eyebrow as he and Enjolras stripped. Courfeyrac was the master of pulling off all of his clothing as quickly as possible, and was already delivering them to Musichetta.

“Nothing…” Enjolras’ cheeks burned as he turned his gaze away from Grantaire.

“Whatever you say.” Combeferre sighed a little. He offered out his arms to take the rest of Enjolras’ clothing, which the blond compliantly handed over.

“Is everything all ready?” Enjolras asked, walking over to Marius who was putting the last hose (obtained from Bahorel) into the a bucket. 

“Yep, you can turn on the water, Joly.” Marius called over to the short raven-haired man. 

“Copy that.” Joly replied, turning a valve, and all at once the buckets became like shower heads, water pouring out of them. 

Grantaire looked in amazement as their little primitive showerheads worked. Honestly, he shouldn’t have been so amazed, but it was Bossuet who set them up after all, so… 

“Where’s the soap?” He asked Jehan, who produced a bar of the stuff. “Wait so it doesn’t come out of the shower head?” 

“You city kids and your fancy technology and regular showers.” Jehan scoffed, “Out here we use _soap_ and _rusty buckets_ and we like it.” 

“Oh god, I hope there’s no rust in these buckets.” Joly said from behind Jehan. 

Grantaire glanced around him as Jehan pulled him underneath a bucket and handed him a bar of soap that Courfeyrac has tossed to him. Everyone seemed to be pretty casual about being naked around each other, other than Bahorel and Feuilly, of course. The larger man was trying his damndest to make Feuilly drop his bar of soap, which was amusing to Courfeyrac apparently, and no one else. They’d grown weary of the couple’s overly public displays of ‘affection’.

That’s when Grantaire’s gaze fell on the blond god that was bathing himself under a bucket near the end of the wall. He seemed to deliberately looking away from everyone else, probably clinging to some last shred of modesty he’d grown up with in the city. Combeferre, who was next to him, appeared to be talking to him, which at one point prompted the blond to swipe some of the water into Combeferre’s face. The taller man laughed.

Grantaire felt his face growing hot the longer he stared at the blond, so much so that when Courfeyrac practically tackled him with a bar of soap in one hand and a rag in the other, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“I know we’d all love to stand around and stare at Enjolras _all day_ ,” He said this loud enough to draw the blond’s attention from further down the wall. “But you do actually have to bathe!” Courfeyrac lathered up his washcloth, slapping Grantaire in the ass with the sudsy cloth.

The brunette yelped, his face turning beet red. When he saw Enjolras staring back at him he felt like his whole body was burning up. The leader was looking at him with an expression that appeared to be complete confusion. Grantaire quickly turned around, keeping his back to the leader as he looked at Courfeyrac, absolutely mortified. Never in his short memory, could the artist recall being this embarrassed. He thought that even if he ever got his real memories back, he still would not have a more embarrassing moment to look back on.

“Courfeyrac, what the-” Grantaire had lowered his voice to address the brunette, but Courfeyrac had not.

“Oh my god, do you have a-” His sentence was abruptly cut off by Jehan, who had enough sense at this point to intervene. He slapped a hand over Courfeyrac’s mouth and grabbed Grantaire, dragging him away, hoping to spare the man any more embarrassment that day. It seemed after that Jehan had made everyone swear not to ever talk about it, because it was never brought up again.

… 

The next day Courfeyrac wanted to go to the junkyard for some parts for a car he was fixing up, which gave them the perfect opportunity to give Grantaire a mission with some training wheels. Feuilly was unavailable for the day, so Enjolras elected to go himself, along with Courfeyrac and Jehan. Two more than normal for such a boring mission, but whatever. 

They’d gone to Thenardier’s to get Grantaire a mask, they don’t go on missions without masks, and he ended up with a black muffle mask that he’d painted a wide, toothy grin onto. It was pretty weird to have something on his face like that, but everyone said he’d get used to it. 

“Okay, so the junkyard is swarming with Operatives, so stealth is of the utmost importance, honey.” Jehan, his voice slightly muffled by the orange tubular skeleton mask that covered his face to the nose, was telling Grantaire as Courfeyrac drove them to their destination. 

“Why? Why do you even have a junkyard out here?” Grantaire asked. 

“Well, technically no one is supposed to repurpose Tomorrow Comes technology,” Courfeyrac said, looking at him through his “mask” of bright pink shuttered party shades, from the front seat, “Most of the junk from the North Sector of the city and from the law abiding citizens that live out here in the wastelands is brought there to rust, and Operatives guard it because it’s government property. But it’s really just a fucking waste.” 

“Just try not to die and you’ll be fine.” Enjolras said. His voice didn’t seem muffled, despite the fact that his black muffle mask was secured firmly over his face. Must have been some magical power that Grantaire hadn’t noticed before. 

… 

Things had gone south pretty much as soon as Courfeyrac found what he was looking for. They’d loaded everything into bags and declared the mission a success, when Grantaire had bumped into one of the cars, setting off a touchy car alarm. Operatives had come running from every direction. 

Enjolras and Grantaire had ended up separated from the others, running out of the junkyard into the open desert. Grantaire kept trying to look back, but Enjolras had a vice like grip around his wrist, dragging him away at a dead sprint. 

They dove behind a cluster of boulders, breathing heavily. The sound of sirens and loud automated voices yelling at them to “come out peacefully, with your hands up” droned on in the background. 

“We’ve got to keep moving.” Enjolras said after a moment, moving to get up. Grantaire didn’t move. “What are you doing? Get up.”

“What’s the point?” Grantaire asked, looking a little spaced out. “They’re going to catch us anyways. They’ve probably already got Courfeyrac and Jehan.” 

Enjolras groaned. He was not the person to be dealing with this right now. He pulled Grantaire up close to his face by the front of his shirt. 

“Listen to me, you little shit.” Enjolras growled, gaining the other man’s attention, “Those fuckers are after us, and we need to get home to our friends even if Courfeyrac and Jehan don’t come with. So you better start fucking running.” 

Grantaire nodded, seeming more focused. Enjolras let him go and they took off again, the Operatives right behind them. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.” Grantaire muttered as they ran, dodging laser beams, “Oh fuck!” 

Enjolras glanced back to see Grantaire still running, holding his arm. He probably got shot. 

“Don’t you fucking stop!” Enjolras yelled back to him. Grantaire looked like he wanted to respond, but he was too busy gritting his teeth against the pain. 

An obnoxious, musical horn noise startled the both of them, They looked to the side and saw, coming up from their left, Courfeyrac’s car barreling towards them. Grantaire and Enjolras looked at each other, before bailing in different directions to avoid being hit. The car came to a stop spinning out. Jehan kicked the back door open. 

“Get in, losers!” He yelled. They didn’t need to be told twice. As soon as they were in the car, Courfeyrac was driving again and Jehan was hanging half out the window, shooting back at the Operatives. 

Grantaire ended up crawling up into the front seat, half because Jehan kept accidentally kicking him with his high heeled boots and half because he didn’t really want to be pressed so close up against Enjolras, since he was pretty sure the leader hated him. His arm still burned, so he looked around the car, trying to find something to focus on.

“Hey Courf,” He asked after a couple minutes of frantic shooting and driving, “What does this button do?” 

“Taire-bear, I would love to show you all the bells and whistles of this thing some day, but for now I gotta focus, babe.” Courfeyrac said glancing up at the rearview mirror to make sure Jehan didn’t fall out the window when they took a sharp turn. 

“It makes toast.” Enjolras said from the backseat. Grantaire glanced back at him, “It was Courf’s first act of rebellion in the city, fucking with Tomorrow Comes property.” 

“But I didn’t think you had bread in the wastelands?” Grantaire asked, looking confused at Courfeyrac. 

“I mean, my existence hasn’t always been sad and breadless. Long ago, when I was still just a boy, not yet a man, my only concerns were the inconvenience of not having toast when I was driving. Oh how I long for those days.” Courfeyrac said, dramatically avoiding a huge hole in the road and throwing everyone around the car in the process. 

“They’re not slowing down.” Jehan called from his place halfway out the car. 

“The base is too far away.” Enjolras chimed in. 

“I know, I know!” Courfeyrac said, clutching the wheel tighter. 

“Hey, isn’t the Patron Minette’s place somewhere around here?” Grantaire chimed in. 

Courfeyrac glanced at Jehan, who looked back at him significantly through the rearview mirror. 

“Will they even let us in?” Enjolras asked, looking between the two. Grantaire felt lost. 

“I mean, me and Parnasse broke up on a good note, so… besides, he’s kind of seeing Eponine anyways.” Jehan said, looking a tiny bit uncomfortable, “It should be fine.” 

“Well, it’s the only shot we have.” Courfeyrac said, shrugging and violently turning the car down the next left fork. 

They got to the Patron Minette’s base, driving straight up to the front. Grantaire expected them to jump out of the car and run to the building, to get away from the Operatives chasing them, but everyone just stayed seated. The Operatives came to a halt outside the perimeter of the strip club, and started shouting over their car speakers. 

“Patron Minette, hand over the fugitives. They were caught stealing from Tomorrow Comes Industries and must got to reconditioning to sort out their defects.” A mechanical sounding voice boomed. 

“This is Montparnasse,” Said a voice that was obviously not Montparnasse, at least obvious to everyone but Grantaire. “These fugitives are helping us with a very important mission.” 

“Please hand over the fugitives or we’ll be forced to take them.” The Operative answered. 

“Well that’s not very nice.” The voice claiming to be Montparnasse chided, “I’m sure Javert will be very upset to hear you’re obstructing justice.” 

There was a long pause. 

“Just make sure your employees do not steal from the junkyard in the future.” The Operative responded. The Operatives pulled away, leaving the Amis parked in front of the Patron Minette’s strip club. 

“Well.” Jehan said at length, “They did just save our lives, they’ll probably want something.”

The Amis got out of the car, lasers drawn but at their sides, and approached the door. Before they could get to it, a girl opened it just enough to hold out her gun, pointing straight at them. 

“Put your weapons down and come here slowly.” She ordered. Reluctantly, the Amis did as they were told. They didn’t really want to start a fight with their new savior. 

The girl came outside, her gun still pointed in their direction, and mostly closed the door behind her. 

“Eponine, we’re just here for shelter till the Operatives back off.” Enjolras said, hands up. 

Eponine wasn’t really looking at him, she was looking at Grantaire with a half confused and half angry expression. 

“Hey slut, who’s your new friend?” The question was directed to Jehan. 

“His name’s Grantaire, bitch.” Jehan said, tossing his braid a little. “And he can speak, you know.” 

She turned to him. “Grantaire, huh?” She asked, raising an eyebrow, “That’s new.” 

“It is?” Grantaire asked, confused. 

“Last I saw you, you didn’t have any hair and you were called 82473.” She said, “Don’t you remember me?” 

Grantaire thought for a moment, before shaking his head, “Sorry, I don’t really remember much of anything.” He said, frowning at her. “Who exactly are you?” 

“This isn’t exactly the time for reunions…” Enjolras sounded a little more bitter than usual.

“On the contrary, I think it’s the perfect time for reunions, so why don’t you keep your pretty mouth shut, Apollo?” Eponine didn’t seem to give a rat’s ass about the authority Enjolras seemed to hold literally everywhere else in the wastelands, gun still pointed at them (but mostly just Enjolras).

Enjolras held his tongue, glaring at her as Grantaire continued to look confused. “I’m sorry, but how do I know you?”

“You really don’t remember?” Eponine feigned offense while Enjolras only appeared to grow more irritated by the second.

“I really don’t thin-” Enjolras began. 

“I told you to shut up, didn’t I?” Eponine pointed the gun directly at him, and the revolutionary raised his hands in defeat. 

Courfeyrac and Jehan exchanged a look, but kept quiet. 

“I really don’t.” Grantaire said to continue his conversation with the seemingly dangerous girl. He racked his brains, but all he could remember was the same old shit, white walls, white pills, and his drawings of a man in red. 

“Do you know why you don’t remember?” Eponine asked, “Like did you hit your head or…?” 

Grantaire shook his head, “No, something happened and they wiped my memory. At least, that’s how I think it went down? I don’t know what exactly happened, but Combeferre’s been helping me to try and remember stuff sometimes and I know something important happened right before I forgot everything.” 

This was news to Enjolras, further pissing him off. He thought he told Combeferre to run all his medical ideas by him before enacting them. 

“That’s good, I guess. You remembered things when I knew you, though. Told me you were some kind of famous graffiti artist. I figured it was bullshit, but you seemed pretty confident.” Eponine said. 

“He was!” Courfeyrac chimed in, “His stuff was all over the North Sector and then one day he just stopped.” 

“Must have been when you were taken in.” Eponine said, not yelling at Courfeyrac for interjecting like she had at Enjolras. “But you did remember things.”

“What did I remember?” Grantaire asked, hopeful. Enjolras mentally pouted, Grantaire never looked so hopeful in all these months.

“I’ll tell you over lunch sometime.” Eponine said, waving her hand, “Are you staying with the Amis?” 

“Yep, they’ve been pretty cool.” Grantaire supplied. 

“Pretty cool?” Jehan scoffed, “Other than Enjolras breaking your nose I’d say we’ve been extremely cool.” He put a hand on his hip.

“I already apologized for that…” Enjolras muttered under his breath.

“Not to rain on anyone’s parade, but we gotta get back to the base before the sun sets for the day otherwise I won’t be able to get any work done with our new supplies.” Courfeyrac chimed in, brushing off his metallic gold leggings, seeming disinterested. 

“How is it there? Is it as preachy as it sounds?” Eponine asked, meeting Grantaire’s eyes like she was trusting him to tell her the truth. 

“It’s kind of preachy, and some of the missions seem pointless, but other than that the people are nice.” Grantaire said with a shrug, Enjolras fumed internally, “They do try really hard though and it is really fun. I’m rooming with Marius and he’s a pretty great roommate.” 

“Hmm. Okay. I don’t have a lot of options here, and you guys owe me for saving your lives, so instead of making you settle this debt with Montparnasse, I’m gonna ask you guys a favor.” Eponine said after a quick moment of contemplation. 

“A favor?” Enjolras spoke up again since he was always the one to decide these things.

Eponine turned her gaze to Enjolras “You’re going to take me with you to the Amis. I need a new place to live and this shitty ass club is not it.” 

“That’s for fucking sure.” Jehan said, “Place is a shit hole.” 

“Fine, but you realize we’re not a homeless shelter, you have to join the cause.” Enjolras glared at her.

“Fine, yeah, whatever, I pledge my life to the cause, I pledge allegiance to your self centered ass, I promise I won’t shoot you in the back, can we go now?” She asked, rolling her eyes, “Me and Grantaire have got some catching up to do.”

“Oh, now you’re in a hurry.” Enjolras muttered under his breath. He was ignored. 

Eponine lowered her gun and opened the door a little more, “Alright Gav, come on out!” 

“What?” Courfeyrac asked. 

A little kid with gold hair and a shit eating grin ran out, “Finally!”

“What.” Enjolras deadpanned, this wasn’t the deal. 

“He’s coming with.” Eponine said firmly. 

“He can’t-” Enjolras started, but he was cut off by Courfeyrac squealing. 

“Ahhhh! He’s so cute oh my god, Jehan, look at that little ray of sunshine!” Courfeyrac’s face lit up, “I always wanted a baby of our own~”

“Aw, babe, I didn’t know you felt that way.” Jehan swooned. Eponine looked mildly disturbed and Gavroche merely grinned, looking pleased.

“Let’s go, you wanted to work on the car, right?” Grantaire asked Courfeyrac. “Also I should get my arm checked out.”

Everyone seemed to suddenly remember that Grantaire was, in fact, injured. 

“Oh fuck, let's get you back to Joly.” Jehan said, heading back to the car.

“Yeah. Remember to buckle up, kid. Safety first!” Courfeyrac reminded Gavroche as they walked back.

“Aw sweetie, you’re such a good dad.” Jehan crooned. 

Eponine mimed vomiting to Grantaire. He and Enjolras were left outside the car for a moment, while the others got situated, half hoping that Courfeyrac would drive slower this time so his arm didn't get jostled again.

“Well that was interesting.” Grantaire commented, glancing at the leader. 

“Let’s just fucking go already.” Enjolras snapped, hopping into the back of the car. He sat down on the top of the back seats, crossing his arms.

Grantaire sighed, that went well. He got into the car and they drove back home. 

… 

Courfeyrac decided that he wasn’t actually going to get any work done today, not with this shiny new child to play with. After introducing the kid as his and Jehan’s love child to the rest of the Amis, they all gathered in what used to be a lounge room, where there were a bunch of broken chairs and couches for everyone to chill and talk. 

After Grantaire was done getting patched up, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Bahorel, Musichetta, and Bossuet were in a deep conversation with Gavroche about his adventures in the wasteland, and Grantaire, Jehan, Joly, Marius, and Eponine were holding a confusing conversation about his memories, and Feuilly was stealing everyone’s attention by coming back home from his weird solo mission. 

Enjolras had been irritated all day, but with everyone around and ignoring the bigger issues at hand he wordlessly left the room, going into Combeferre’s lab to get away from everyone. He wasn’t quite used to this much commotion around the Musain. At least, not since they had first arrived there. Back then there had been so many others, but now there was only the ten of them, plus Grantaire, Eponine, and now a kid too.

Enjolras sat and sulked in silence, flipping through one of Combeferre’s lab journals about Grantaire and not really reading it, when Feuilly came in. 

“So, you wanna tell me why you’re in here instead of out there with the rest of us?” He asked, arms crossed. 

“It’s too loud out there for my tastes,” Enjolras rubbed his temples a little.

“Dude, you’re the loudest person I know. Aside from Bahorel, but that’s only really in the bedroom, so it’s invalid. Why are you avoiding everyone?” Feuilly asked, sitting next to him. 

“I just can’t believe everyone is absolutely fine with bringing a kid here, it’s way too dangerous! We don’t have the time to look after him 24/7.” The blond fumed.

“I don’t see why you’re so upset. It’s not like we’re all out going on missions like we used to, we don’t have the resources. Plus the kid is Thenardier’s, he’s tough.” Feuilly reasoned, Enjolras looked like he wanted to interrupt, but Feuilly held up his finger to make him wait, “Besides, you’re the one who always wants us to save the kids or the future generation or whatever. You of all people should be happy he’s here.” 

“I don’t want to see him get hurt…” Enjolras looked away. “I don’t want to be responsible for that.”

“That seems legit, but if you were just concerned about the kid, you’d have locked him in the bathroom to keep him safe or covered him in bubble wrap or something. Something else is on your mind.” Feuilly said. 

“It’s just-” Enjolras tried to use his hands to express his frustration before huffing and giving up, “Today he just totally undermined me in front of Eponine and even worse he said he still doesn’t believe in the cause. What is he even doing here if he doesn’t believe in the cause?” Enjolras had about a million more things on his mind when it came to Grantaire, but until Grantaire remembered everything he’d keep quiet.

“So, you’re just mad because _Grantaire_ recruited them and not you?” Feuilly asked, “You need to get over it. I know he pissed you off when he first met you, but that’s no reason to act the way you’ve been acting to him since he got here.” 

“That’s not it!” Enjolras defended himself, crossing his arms. He was about to say something else when he heard a commotion from the other room.

While this had been going on, Grantaire had been trying desperately to remember the things Eponine was telling him about himself, how he got captured waiting for someone, how he used to write notes all over the city to someone, but no one could ever figure out who. Grantaire was at a loss. 

And then it happened, another flashback. Grantaire tried to say something, to talk over Eponine as she was telling a long winded story about Grantaire spitting in a guard’s face at the facility, but she was incredibly hard to derail and the room was very loud. 

He spaced out. His hands were shaking slightly. Jehan looked over from his conversation with Courfeyrac and noticed, but it was too late, Grantaire caught sight of Combeferre, dressed in a lab coat that was so similar to those at the facility, and he just lost it. 

“Grantaire?” Eponine asked, breaking off her story to look at the man who was backing away slightly. Jehan moved past her, elbowing her on the way (only a little on purpose) and stood before Grantaire. 

“Grantaire, babe. What’s wrong?” Jehan asked in his most comforting voice. He wished Cosette were here, but she was with her dad. 

“I… I don’t want to go to testing. Don’t make me go to testing.” Grantaire muttered, almost too quiet for Jehan to hear. He touched Grantaire’s arm lightly to comfort him. 

“No one’s going to make you go to testing.” Jehan reassured him, but Grantaire just shook his head, backing away a little more. By this time all other conversations had stopped and everyone was watching Grantaire. 

Grantaire looked desperately to Combeferre, “Please,” He said, eyes wide and full of fear, “Don’t make me go! I’ve been good, I took all my pills! They’re working, see? I don’t want to leave anymore, I’m happy here, just don’t make me go.” He held out his hand as if holding out an empty cup of pills to show Combeferre that he wasn’t lying. 

Combeferre felt sick. He took a tentative step forward, but stopped when Grantaire took a step back in response. “Grantaire, it’s fine. We’re not taking you into testing today.” Combeferre said, trying to play along a little. Maybe he could just sort of guide him out of the flashback. 

“No.” Grantaire said, grabbing his head, tangling his fingers in his curls to stay grounded, “No, no you’re lying.” Blood seeped through the bandage on his arm. He wasn't supposed to move his arm so suddenly, it would tear his stitches.

“Hey buddy, calm down.” Bahorel said, startling Grantaire from behind, putting his hand on his shoulder. The distressed man shrugged him off violently and backed up further, his back hitting the wall. 

“No, get away. Just leave me ALONE!” He shouted. 

There was a moment of dead silence, and Enjolras and Feuilly entered the room. 

“What is he doing?” Enjolras asked, earning a glare from Feuilly. He looked back at him, exasperated, obviously something was happening with Grantaire. 

“R.” Eponine tried, but that got no response, “82473.” 

“37691?” Grantaire asked. Eponine nodded. It must have been her prisoner number. 

“Yeah, they’re not coming for you today, 82473.” Eponine said in her most comforting voice, “You’re safe.” 

“37691, you have to run! Get out of here!” Grantaire yelled, “Go, you have to go! Don’t waste your time here, you have to get out before they get mad!” 

“R…” Enjolras said, taking a step forward. Grantaire looked up at him, his eyes wild. 

“You! Why are you always in my head? Who are you? Get out! Get out!” He stepped forward, holding his head and shaking it like a madman. 

Joly, who had sent Marius to grab him his first aid kit, snuck up behind Grantaire with Bahorel, a quiet plan made while everyone was focused on the man himself. 

Bahorel pinned his arms, Grantaire thrashed violently and Joly jammed the needle into his neck, praying he didn’t hit an artery or anything important. He depressed the plunger and Grantaire slowed his struggle, looking no less crazed, just less focused. 

“Who are you?” He asked weakly, one last time. The world faded from his view. 

…

The flashbacks didn’t stop when Grantaire was passed out. 

_“You know where she is.” The Operative said, holding R by the front of his shirt. His face stung from a slap he’d received for a smart ass comment he’d made._

_“I don’t, I promise. But she’ll be back for me. She promised she’d be back.” R said defiantly, and so sure of himself._

_“Your time with him is up, I must have my patient to resume testing.” Dr. Cubac said, and the Operative let R go._

_“You need to get a better handle on him. He’s still resistant.” The Operative said, and Dr. Cubac looked offended that the man was telling him to do his job._

_“We’re working on a new idea, a clean slate.” Dr. Cubac said._

_“A clean slate?” R asked, though Dr. Cubac was generally upset when he spoke out of turn._

_“Well, you’ll find out, now won’t you?” Dr. Cubac said, and he and the Operative left the room._

Enjolras sat beside Grantaire’s mattress, waiting patiently for him to wake up. He was somewhat zoned out as he turned over the folded up piece of paper R had drawn on months ago in his hand. When Grantaire began to wake up he quickly shoved it back into his pocket, “Grantaire.”

“Apollo?” Grantaire asked. Enjolras’s heart soared. Did he finally recognize him? 

“Yeah?” Enjolras asked, reaching out and touching the back of Grantaire’s hand lightly. 

“Can you… can you get 376...Eponine? Please?” He asked, not wanting to start a fight right now, “I just… I need to ask her something.” 

His heart sank just as quickly, “Yeah.” Enjolras pushed himself up, leaving the room, returning a few moments later with Eponine.

“Yo.” Eponine waved a little, “Feeling any better?” She came in and sat down next to him.

“Yeah, a bit.” Grantaire said, rubbing his head, “Hey, I just… remembered something. I remembered you getting out of the facility, but you promised to get me out. I just… why didn’t you?” 

Eponine sighed and looked away, like she'd rather be anywhere but here answering this question. “I didn’t have the money to get you out. The Patron Minette only work for a handsome fee. And anyways, by the time I did have enough I had Gavroche to take care of. I couldn’t just go wasting that kind of money on a guy I didn’t even know was still alive.”

“Why didn’t you come to us?” Enjolras stood in the doorway, arms crossed.

“Why would I?” Eponine shot back. 

Enjolras was going to say something back, but he stopped when Grantaire started to speak. 

“That makes sense.” He said, “I just wanted to know that you were sincere. You tried, and that’s enough.” 

“She tried? Grantaire, you got your fucking memory wiped! And that’s okay because she _tried_?” Enjolras all but yelled. Grantaire shrugged. 

“I really did try.” Eponine said, shooting a glare at Enjolras. “I tried to get my dad to hire them, I tried to seduce Montparnasse, I tried every weapon in my arsenal. But my dad’s a dick and I was only sixteen, so Montparnasse refused.” 

“I appreciate it.” Grantaire said, leaning back on his pillows. “You did all you could, and that’s all I could ask.” 

“You’re still a sap.” Eponine said, lightly punching his arm. 

“You’re still a bitch.” Grantaire laughed back. 

Enjolras sighed and left.


	4. Sing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras reveals his backstory and some of the Amis go to a concert

The past month things had gotten a little better between Grantaire and Enjolras, but not much better for either of them respectively. The flashbacks were becoming a little more frequent for Grantaire, but by now the Amis had mostly figured out how to handle them. Enjolras, on the other hand, kept more to himself lately, not feeling the best. He figured it was the stress of all of the new blood. 

Particularly Eponine and Gavroche, who now resided in the old utility room, which was right outside of the landing. The room was usable, but not ideal given the fact that it was the closest to the landing where Feuilly and Bahorel both slept. Or rather, didn’t sleep. The two were known for their ungodly loud and shamelessly open sex at any and all hours of the night. Although Eponine seemed very annoyed at this, Gavroche had walked by them on multiple occasions on his way to get a glass of water in the middle of the night seemingly completely unphased. Since the kid wasn’t traumatized, Feuilly and Bahorel hadn’t let up any either.

Today, Enjolras was alone with Grantaire in the base while Courfeyrac worked on the car outside, Combeferre was working in the lab, and everyone else was on supply runs across the wastelands. It was only a few moments before Enjolras had to go on air and Grantaire was in the middle of another flashback. Fuck.

“Hey, Grantaire, come back to me. Snap out of it R.” Enjolras gently shook Grantaire’s shoulder. “Come on…”

“The meds are working, doctor. I don’t think I need a new dosage.” Grantaire was saying blandly, “I feel great.” 

“Hey, hey, no new dosage today, R.” Enjolras’s eyes darted to the radio set, and back to Grantaire. He needed to be on air now. “What about a story instead? That’ll take your mind off of it. Did I ever tell you about how I became an Ami?” 

Grantaire shook his head, meeting his eyes. 

“Okay, cool. Just make sure you stay quiet, because I’m going on air,” Enjolras said, getting his microphone from the bar. He sat back down across from Grantaire and cleared his throat, “Hello to all you rebels, from New Paris to the wastelands. Boy, have I got a treat for you! By popular demand I’ve decided to share a little bit of my own personal history with you, yes you.” Enjolras paused, looking at Grantaire. He seemed to be doing a little better. “The year was 20XX and I was in the summer before my senior year. I’d never liked the city much, but I also wasn’t quite ready to just skip town either. With both of my friends off doing their own thing that summer I was left to my own devices, and I swore if I had to play another game of fucking ping pong I’d blow my brains out. So instead I wandered the city.”

Enjolras held in a sigh of relief as he looked at R again, who seemed to doing better, listening intently. “That’s when I met this kid. He called himself an artist but to be honest he looked more like a scruffy homeless guy from the wastelands with a can of spray paint than an artist. Despite appearances, this guy was a true rebel; rather infamous around the area for his colorful spray paint murals on the backs of Tomorrow Comes owned buildings. When I ran into him for the first time we bumped into each other behind the local ping pong club in North Sector A. He said I was the most beautiful man he’d ever met and I told him he was the least conventionally attractive man I’d ever met. Obviously we hit it off.

“He and I met throughout the summer and we’d spend hours whispering of our ideas for a better world with more expression and freedom. Our friendship exploded into a summer romance, and we spent almost every day together. When the sun began to set on the summer and we were about to part ways, though I didn't know it, he said ‘Apollo, I’m going to paint you, and then everyone’s gonna know your name for miles around. You’ll be able to skip this city and go create something more beautiful somewhere else with all the other rebels following you like the sun.’ And I told him he was fucking crazy. Nothing anywhere else in the world could have been more perfect than what it was like to be by his side that summer. When it finally did come time to ditch New Paris however, the guy disappeared without a trace but not before leaving me a legacy on the back of that very same ping pong club in Sector A where we first met. Even though he left I thank him everyday because, as most of you listening out there know, that’s how the Amis came to find me and my friends out here in the wastelands. Without him there would have been no start to the revolution. Just a handful of discontent teenagers wasting away in the desert.” Enjolras cleared his throat one last time before speaking up again, “And this has been Enjolras for the Amis, now signing off.” Enjolras cut the feed and took a deep breath, hardly pausing at all during his broadcast.

Grantaire took a deep breath. He felt better just having listened to Enjolras speak. Although Grantaire didn’t think that he could ever compare to this amazing, ballsy sounding, romantic artist (aside from the artist bit), it did make him a little happy to know that Enjolras was indeed attracted to men. At least then, if Tomorrow Comes decimated the entire world and they were the only two left for some reason, he had a chance. Because until then he had no chance whatsoever. 

Enjolras ditched his headphones and walked over to Grantaire, sitting next to him. 

“You doing okay?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire nodded. 

“Yeah,” He said, “Thanks. Your boyfriend sounded like a pretty awesome guy, sorry about whatever happened to him.” 

Enjolras made a slight noise of disbelief and amusement, “Yeah, me too.”

Before he had the chance to say anything else he heard the front door slam open, causing both of them to jump a bit at the thought of a possible raid. Instead Courfeyrac poked his head into the room, “Enjolras, can I speak to you in private, alone, by ourselves for a moment?”

“Uh…” Enjolras didn’t have a chance to reply before Courfeyrac was dragging him to Combeferre’s lab. 

“Good, I’ll bring him back in a minute, R, you’re a babe!” Courfeyrac called over his shoulder. He slammed the door to Combeferre’s lab shut behind them. Combeferre was standing in the corner, covered in protective gear, but Courfeyrac didn’t seem to notice him. 

“Oh. My. God. You and R were fucking?” Courfeyrac hissed, demanding. “And you didn’t tell me?” 

“Um… well I never said it was R…” Enjolras said, avoidantly. 

“Don’t you fucking play dumb with me, you beautiful bitch.” Courfeyrac said, grasping Enjolras’s face between his hands and squeezing his cheeks, “Tell me everything.” 

“It’s not like I was hiding it from you.” Enjolras said, his voice sounding off, as his face was being squished. 

“Does he know?” 

“No.”

“I was going to throw a Virginity Party to get you laid! I was going to invite half the wasteland! I mean, I was pretty sure you were into guys, but with the whole animosity thing you’ve got going on with Eponine, I wasn’t sure, cause you know you’re kind of a dick to people you like when you first meet them.” Courfeyrac rambled. 

“...I am?” Enjolras asked, but Combeferre interrupted from behind them. 

“Wait, why were you throwing a Virginity Party? I mean he and I kind of… you know…” Combeferre trailed off, blushing slightly after he pulled off his headgear. 

“When did you get here?” Courfeyrac demanded, holding his chest as if Combeferre had given him a heart attack. 

“I mean, this is my lab.” 

“Wait, you and Combeferre did WHAT? And you didn’t tell ME?” Courfeyrac was yelling some words by now, and Enjolras glared at Combeferre. 

“Hey man, that was supposed to be between us.” He said. 

“Sorry, but I mean, was it really that much of a surprise? I mean you had that threesome with Bahorel and Feuilly like right after they got together.” Combeferre said, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. 

“Oh my god.” Enjolras muttered, before Courfeyrac exploded. 

“OH MY FUCKING BABY JESUS, YOU DIDN’T TELL ME, _YOUR BEST FRIEND_ , THAT YOU FUCKED FEUILLY AND BAHOREL?” 

From the other room, that was the only part Grantaire heard clearly. 

“I mean they were pretty loud, I thought everyone knew.” Combeferre said by way of apology. 

“I can’t believe I was so out of the loop. I can’t believe that my two best friends are fucking _traitors_ who never tell me _anything_.” Courfeyrac huffed, walking dramatically out the door. 

He walked past Grantaire. “He’s all yours, sweetie.” 

Grantaire glanced between Courfeyrac and the door. “Did he seriously have a threesome with Bahorel and Feuilly?” 

“I mean, _apparently_.” Courfeyrac replied, before going off to work on his car some more. 

Combeferre looked at Enjolras, who was still slightly glaring at him. “Well since you’re here, it’s about time for your checkup anyways.” 

Enjolras groaned. Could this day get any worse? 

…

In the afternoon, Jehan came into the saloon where Courfeyrac, Joly, Marius, and Grantaire were sitting, a huge grin on his face. 

“Hey girls, I just got the best news!” He said, hiding something behind his back.

“Was it the fact that Enjolras kept a summer romance from his best friends for years and then announced it on the radio, because I already know.” Courfeyrac pouted. 

“That’s old news, baby. The Students are playing tonight at that place behind the motel!” Jehan said, producing the flyer from behind his back. Grantaire looked at it, The drawings looked shitty, but it got the message across. 

“Aw man, I can’t go.” Marius complained, “I’ve got a date with Cosette.” 

“I mean you could always bring her.” Joly suggested, but Marius was shaking his head. 

“Last time I brought Cosette to one of those things she started the mosh pit because someone snapped her bra, I’m not willing to live through that again.” Marius shuddered. 

“Fair enough.” Courfeyrac conceded, and he redirected his gaze to Grantaire, “What about you?” 

“What is ‘The Students’?” Grantaire asked, looking confused. 

“Oh my god, I totally forgot. R, you poor deprived baby, you’ve never been to a concert before!” Jehan said, petting Grantaire’s hair. 

“What?” 

“So it’s just a band that plays loud, out of tune instruments badly, but it’s like the best thing in the world and you should go.” Joly said, “I’m going.” 

“Yeah, and The Students don’t have like complex lyrics, so you’ll catch on pretty fast.” Marius added. 

“Hey, that’s my favorite band you’re talking about, watch it.” Courfeyrac scolded, before thinking for a second and sighing, “It’s true though. You have to go.” 

“I don’t know…” Grantaire said. It honestly sounded like fun, but ever since the flashbacks had been getting worse, he didn’t like letting Enjolras out of his sight. He didn’t know why, but he was afraid that if he let him out of his sight too long he’d never see him again or something. 

“Come on, I’ll make Bossuet come.” Joly said, with pleading eyes. 

“Yeah, and I’ll make Enjolras come too.” Courfeyrac promised. 

This seemed like a normal suggestion now to everyone but Grantaire, since they all knew that R was the one Enjolras had been talking about on the radio. Thanks to Courfeyrac, of course. 

“I mean, I guess if all the cool kids are doing it…” Grantaire said, and Joly let out a cheer. 

… 

“Listen up, blondie.” Courfeyrac said, scaring the shit out of Enjolras who was quietly writing plans in his room, “You owe me for being a fucking traitor, so you’re coming to the concert with us tonight. Grantaire is going to be there and I am not letting you miss him popping his concert cherry.” 

“Aw, but I have so much work to do.” Enjolras pretended to complain. He knew that if he made this too easy for Courfeyrac the man would just dream up another thing for Enjolras to do for him. Anyways, this sounded fun. 

“I don’t care.” Courfeyrac said, leaving the room. 

Enjolras grinned. 

…

Courfeyrac was showing Gavroche how to help fix his car when one of the other vehicles pulled up outside the Musain. A fuming ginger leaped out of the car, storming past Courf and Gavroche into get Joly. Meanwhile Bahorel lay in the back seat of the convertible, holding a towel around his leg. They had been out on a supply mission.

Courfeyrac quickly set down his tools, running over, “Holy shit, what happened to you?”

Gavroche climbed up onto the back of the car, “Gross, there’s blood everywhere!”

Feuilly emerged from the saloon with Joly before Bahorel got the chance to speak for himself. “Some asshole decided that he just had to be a show off and got hit with one of the Ops’ guns.” He was furious as he explained it to Joly.

The medic only sighed as he opened up the back door, instructing Bahorel to remove the towel, which he did with a nervous laugh, trying to give Feuilly a reassuring smile. It was responded to by a harsh glare. Joly sighed deeply as he examined the large wound in Bahorel’s leg.

“This is going to sting,” he mumbled, taking out something in a spray bottle and misting the wound with it. Bahorel sucked in a sharp breath at the pain. “But you're lucky it missed any arteries. You’ll live, but you’re going to have to let it heal and stay off it for the next week or two.” Joly began to wrap it up tightly, not bothering to be gently.

“See baby, I’m fine.” Bahorel grinned at Feuilly.

“Save it dickwad, if you hadn’t been so reckless like I told you not to be this wouldn’t have happened.” Feuilly spat. “You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“But hun-” Bahorel wanted to protest, but he went silent as Feuilly glared back at him, eyes glistening with tears before he stormed off. Joly scoffed a bit as he finished wrapping up the large man’s wound.

“Ooooh, somebody is in trouble,” Gavroche teased the big man before Courfeyrac gently hit him in the shoulder.

“Don’t worry ‘Horel, he’ll forgive you soon enough.” Courfeyrac patted Bahorel’s shoulder, “Need help getting in?”

…

The group headed out to the concert in three separate cars, all listening to loud music on their radios as they drove down the wasteland roads. Joly, Bossuet, Musichetta, Courfeyrac, and Jehan were all that were coming, aside from Enjolras and Grantaire. The rest of the Amis charged with watching over the Musain (and Bahorel). It was a fairly short trip before they all pulled up outside the venue, hopping out of the cars and entering in through the main gate. The sign outside was half broken but the letters were still mostly legible “Centennial Hills Park”. Once inside they walked past brightly colored, yet broken and weather-worn tall playground structures and flower sculptures, making their way to the back of the park where a large stage-like structure stood. 

There must have been hundreds of people all crowded around the stage, all jumping up and down and screaming and dancing. It was more people than Grantaire thought he’d ever seen in one place- no, probably in his whole life. The music was loud, hard, and fast, much like the CDs Enjolras would play at the saloon. Greenday… that’s what it was, if he recalled correctly. This music was different though, not just in the melodies, but the voices.

Grantaire turned to see Courfeyrac grinning, “Amazing, right?” The man shouted.

“Yeah! It’s just pretty loud.” Grantaire yelled back.

“Well you better get used to it honey, because it’s not getting any quieter! See that guy up there?” Courfeyrac was practically bouncing with excitement as their friends seemed to all split off in different directions into the crowd.

“Yeah?” Grantaire strained to see above all the energetic people.

“That’s Student 1, he’s the lead singer. And Student 2 is the guy on the drums, and that’s 3 on the guitar and 4 on the bass!” Courfeyrac yelled, “They’re really great-” He was cut off as Jehan yanked him into the crowd as well. Grantaire looked around, surrounded by strangers. He sighed in relief when he spotted a familiar blond not too far away in the crowd.

The brunette worked his way through a sea of people to Enjolras, grinning, “This is amazing!”

Enjolras turned to Grantaire, an obvious grin plastered on his face, “Isn’t it? I love concerts!”

Although usually very fired up and passionate Grantaire had to admit that this was the happiest he’d ever seen their leader, “Courfeyrac said you don’t go much, why not?” Grantaire shouted over the music as he watched Enjolras moving his body to the energetic sound.

“I guess there’s just more important things to do!” He yelled back, “But letting loose every once in awhile is important! Or at least that’s what Combeferre is always saying…”

“Oh.” Grantaire felt an unnatural desire to move along with the music as well, using Enjolras’ movements as a frame of reference. “It is pretty great-” Grantaire didn’t get to finish as an over zealous girl bumped into him, pushing him up against Enjolras. He saw the blond turn flush. “Sorry!”

“Don’t apologize you idiot!” Enjolras did his best to brush it off, “Just dance!” He raised his arms above his head, swaying his hips with the rhythm as he slowly traced his hands back down his body. Grantaire moved his arms and his pelvis along to the music like he saw some other men doing. Before Grantaire realized it, the two had gotten even closer than before, now only inches apart. Grantaire could see Enjolras sweating, the body heat between the two providing more than enough heat to keep them on fire in the chilly desert night.

Enjolras watched Grantaire closely, biting his lip a bit as he swore he saw the very same teenage artist he fell for so many years ago right in front of him. Nothing could possibly end such a perfect moment, or at least he hoped to whatever god might be out there that nothing would as their bodies almost touched in the crowd.

“Have you seen Joly and Bossuet?” Grantaire tried to make small talk, feeling a little awkward.

“What?” That was enough to snap Enjolras out of his trance, that wasn’t exactly what he’d been hoping to hear out of Grantaire’s mouth next. “I think they went over toward the mosh pit like a couple of idiots.”

Grantaire followed Enjolras’ line of sight over to people dancing violently near the front all but ripping each other to shreds, “They went in _there_ with Joly’s cane? I hope they’re alright…”

“With Chetta looking after them they’ll be fine!” Enjolras reassured Grantaire. “Stop worrying and enjoy this while is la-” Enjolras was pushed forward by an elbow to his back, nearly knocking heads with Grantaire, who caught him by the waist just barely in time, “-sts…” He looked up at Grantaire, who was looking just as intently down at him, blue eyes practically sparkling underneath the string lights that lit the park. He closed his eyes a little as he leaned ever so slightly forward before the whole moment was shattered by sirens. 

“Shit! Come on R!” Enjolras yanked Grantaire from the crowd as everyone scattered, running back for the cars. He ran through the people as fast as he could, only stopping when he felt Grantaire being pulled back. Enjolras spun around to see Thenardier himself grabbing Grantaire’s sleeve, his other arm cradling a cash box and an assortment of plastic cups.

“Hey, you little shits better give me back my daughter soon or I’ll send the Patron Minette on you.” He growled.

“Get her yourself, you lazy asshole!” Enjolras tugged Grantaire forward. Thenardier looked like he had something else to say, but he seemed to judge that it wasn’t worth the risk and ran off with his money. The two men made it back to the car, only one of the three they took left outside. Enjolras saw Bossuet climbing into the driver’s seat but quickly pushed him aside as they made it to the car. 

“There is no way in hell you’re driving,” Enjolras jumped into the driver’s seat and Grantaire got in back.

“Oh thank god, I really didn’t want to get in a car crash today.” Bossuet said as Enjolras revved up the engine and sped off, kicking up sand on the falling apart road.

“Where are the others?” Grantaire asked, leaning into the front seat. 

“They all made it out I’m pretty sure. I guess we’ll find out when we get back.” Bossuet looked at Enjolras, whose mind seemed to be preoccupied, as he didn’t give any response.

“I guess so…” Grantaire nodded.

…

They managed to lose the Operatives quite a few miles back and were finally returning home. Bossuet sighed in relief as he saw the other two cars pulled up outside of the saloon. Everyone got out of the car, walking into the Musain. In the main room everyone was gathered, listening to Courfeyrac’s heroic tale of how Jehan shot like three Ops on their way out when they were trying to climb onto the car. Jehan looked triumphant, waving at Bossuet, Grantaire, and Enjolras as they walked in. 

Enjolras took the moment of commotion as an opportunity to sink down into one of the chairs. His lungs felt like they were on fire and his head was spinning. Normally he didn’t feel this bad after a getaway, but he hadn’t done this in a while. Maybe he was getting out of shape. He looked up, seeing Grantaire giving him a look. He rolled his eyes in response to let the brunette know he was doing fine. Upon seeing it Grantaire smiled, turning back to Courfeyrac’s story.

“Enjolras.” The blond jumped as he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked back to see Combeferre. “Can I talk to you about something in private?”

“Jesus you scared me, yeah.” Enjolras pushed himself up, feeling a little light headed, “Sure thing.”

“Sorry,” Combeferre mumbled as they walked back into his lab.

“So, is this about Grantaire, have you figured out why he has such a resistance to the reconditioning yet?” Enjolras sat on one of the counters, looking at Combeferre. His friend pushed his glasses up, looking unusually nervous.

“It’s not about R, Enj, it’s about you.” He scratched the back of his neck, pacing in front of Enjolras.

“Ferre, go ahead and spit it out. It’s fine.” Enjolras crossed his arms.

“It’s- Enj, you-” He shook his head, clearing his throat, “I ran all the tests from your physical and not all of the results are so good.” He stopped in front of his friend, looking up at him. Enjolras was only staring, oddly expressionless. Then again, sometimes he got that way when he was waiting to judge how he should react. “You’re losing a lot of weight and you’re pretty malnourished. You’re really going to need to take care of yourself better…”

“Combeferre. You didn’t call me back here to tell me to eat.” Enjolras said firmly.

“You’ve got dust in your lungs, Enjolras.” Combeferre spit out the words, not wanting them to leave their foul taste in his mouth any longer. He saw Enjolras’s expression change, his best friend’s eyes widening as he tried to remain calm.

“Dust? You’re sure your equipment isn’t just faulty?” He hopped off the counter, “I mean, I’ve been a little dizzy and coughing a bit lately, but I’m pretty sure it’s just because of that new fuel Courf’s been using in his car. It doesn’t burn for shit.” He laughed slightly. To have dust in your lungs… that wasn’t something to be taken lightly. It meant game over, especially for someone living out in the wastelands, nowhere near the medical treatment centers of New Paris.

“Enjolras… I tested it again and again- I wouldn’t tell you if I wasn’t sure. You’re-”

“Dying.” Enjolras supplemented. “Alright.” He nodded a little, taking a deep breath. “Can you do me a favor, Combeferre?”

“Anything.” The taller man said, looking down at his friend. The lack of emotion on his face frightened Combeferre. How could he be so stoic about… this?

“Don’t tell anyone, alright?” Enjolras looked up at Combeferre, giving him a smirk, “They’ll only worry and get distracted. Can’t have that now, can we?”

Combeferre blinked, “Are you sure? Enjolras- they’ll only want to help.”

“I’m sure.” Enjolras nodded, turning to leave the lab, “Oh.” He stopped in the doorway, not looking back at Combeferre.

“Y-yes?” Combeferre’s voice cracked and he reached up, putting a hand over his mouth. He could feel the tears threatening. His friend since birth was dying and he knew there was nothing they could do for him. How could he be so calm?

“Thank you.”

…

Enjolras kicked the table to the ground, not even flinching as it thudded against the floor and papers when flying everywhere, all over his bedroom. He slammed his fist against the wall and bit his tongue. How? How could this happen- how could it happen when he’d finally found R again and before he’d even gotten a chance to make a difference? It wasn’t fair! Oh, god! It wasn’t fucking fair at all! Enjolras sank to his knees, finally feeling the tears coming. 

“God dammit… why now?” He mumbled, listening to the loud and happy sounds of his friends celebrating below, glad they were able to drown out his fit. “I don’t want to die!” He shouted, voice cracking before he broke down into a fit of coughs. Enjolras covered his mouth with his hands until the coughing subsided. When he looked down at them he was able to see the speckles of blood that he’d coughed up for the first time. He just sat there on the floor staring at the blood for a little while before finally getting up and wiping off his hands on one of the bed sheets. He didn’t have much time left to make a difference… he couldn’t just sit around feeling sorry for himself. He had work to do.


	5. Planetary (GO!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras starts sending everyone out on dangerous missions and the Amis (particularly Jehan and Grantaire) are concerned

It had been two months since the concert, and in that time everything had been heating up. Enjolras, seemingly pumped up from their escape, had sent out a couple Amis on a rescue mission the next day. This was fairly normal, sometimes they did do things for other people out of the goodness of their hearts, but things only escalated.

Marius explained to Grantaire one day that before, when there were about 75 Amis total and they had taken over an entire abandoned hotel, they used to do stuff like that all the time. They’d give food to outlaws or rebels who really needed it, who were off the grid and not being provided for like the actual legitimate New Paris citizens that lived out here. They’d go on rescue missions, insert themselves into other groups’ drama to try to be peacemakers or champions for the weak. 

Slowly, the former Amis had members shot down or bombed, and numbers and resources had dwindled until it became the small group it was now. Their reputation was still in place, however, and enough people owed them favors that Enjolras was willing to cash them in now, instead of saving them for a later date when he’d need them like he had been doing before. 

As the missions got increasingly dangerous and their reputation began to spread beyond the wastelands into New Paris, the Amis were getting worried. 

Combeferre would ordinarily be the one to tell him to calm down, but the man was spending increasing amounts of time alone, exhausted and guilt ridden. He knew there was no cure outside of the city and his research was useless, but while he was working on the resistance medication from Grantaire he was trying in vain to figure something out. He was kept up most nights by Enjolras’s coughing, something the man suppressed in front of the others. 

No one else dared approach their leader on the subject until one day after a particularly passionate broadcast Enjolras and Jehan sat in the main room, alone. Enjolras leaned on the bar, trying to catch his breath back up to a reasonable speed. It seemed like ever since Combeferre had told him about the damned disease that it was eating him alive, twice as fast. Jehan came around the corner of the bar, gently resting a hand of Enjolras’ shoulder, rubbing it a little. Enjolras just sank a little more against the bar, too tired to protest.

“You should take a break, Enjolras. You’re really beating yourself up lately.” Jehan sighed, giving his head a thoughtful tilt.

“I’m fine Jehan. I appreciate your concern but the world isn’t just going to change itself, you know?” Enjolras straightened up a little, looking over at Jehan, who only seemed to worry more.

“Babe,” he began, folding his arms across his chest, “These sorts of things take time. You can’t just rush in and expect to be balls-deep in the solution to the problem.”

Enjolras scoffed a little, “Jehan, really. I’m just pumped up, okay?” He rubbed his head a little, looking exhausted at the very thought of continuing their conversation. “We’re making more of an impact in the past two months than we have in the past three years.”

“I don’t think-”

“Even if you don’t think it, it’s true. We are!” Enjolras refused to hear a word of the contrary. Not when he’d been working so hard…

“But hun,” Jehan furrowed his brow in concern, “You’re killing yourself going at this pace.”

That was the final straw for Enjolras and whatever sanity he had left to cling to, “Killing myself?” He said it in a tone of disbelief. “I’m _killing_ myself? Jehan, I don’t think you understand-”

“Well how can he understand if you keep shutting everybody off from you and sending them out on these half-assed ‘get up and go’ missions?” Grantaire had walked in only moment earlier, but it was more than enough time to catch enough of the conversation to get the gist. He expected a witty, or at least pissy reply from Enjolras, but his heart sank a little as he saw the cold glare Enjolras was giving him instead. The blond made no further effort to defend himself, pushing past Grantaire as he exited the room. “Well. Shit.”

“Oh, god… I fucked up.” Jehan sank down onto a bar stool. “I should have been more subtle.”

“Hey, hey, don’t even worry about it. If anyone is the fuck up, it’s me.” Grantaire grinned a little, walking over. “Who knew he’d be so touchy? I was expecting another broken nose, not the silent treatment.” Grantaire tried to joke, able to pick up on the fact that Jehan was rather upset. “He must be channeling his inner Courfeyrac today.”

“Grantaire, what are we going to do with him?” Jehan sighed as he pressed his face into his hands, “He’s going to go on T.V.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Grantaire had no idea how that was possible. Everyone who was ever on the T.V. seemed to be from New Paris. There was no way they’d let a wastelands guy- a revolutionary no less, on air.

“I overheard him talking to Marius and Courf about hacking into the signal to get him on air. Even if it’s just for a few seconds all of New Paris would see his face. There’s not much good a mask can do then.” Jehan shook his head, “He really is going to get himself killed.”

“...I’ll see if I can talk to him.” Grantaire sighed a little. He was sure Enjolras didn’t want to talk, and certainly not to him despite the improvements to their relationship since the concert, but he still had to try.

…

The next day Grantaire was sent on a mission with Joly and Bossuet to go give some medical aid to some non-legal citizens in the wastelands. Well, Joly was there for medical purposes. Bossuet and Grantaire were there to back him up. 

Things went well, but afterwards they went to an old medical facility abandoned by Tomorrow Comes a couple years ago. It had been swarming with guards up until the prior month, so they figured the coast was clear for them to loot and pillage for medication. Combeferre made a specific request for those awful meal replacement pills that Bossuet and Grantaire had been forced to live off of. 

They had just gotten in the door, when alarms went off. Grantaire wanted to ditch the mission, but Joly and Bossuet ran inside, grabbing whatever they could, stuffing things into their bags at random. Grantaire hesitated a moment, thinking of starting the car to make a quick getaway, but he couldn’t just leave them to face the wrath of Enjolras alone, or leave Joly without new supplies. Or leave Combeferre without those pills as a matter of fact. Enjolras did seem to be losing weight. 

Going to the next room away from Joly and Bossuet, Grantaire picked up everything he thought might be useful, rooting through a cabinet for the pills. He laughed in victory when he found them, shoving them into his bag. 

“Shit, I hear the Ops.” Bossuet said, poking his head through the door, “We better start running.” 

They didn’t need to be told twice. As Bossuet bolted out the door Grantaire all but carried Joly with him so the shorter man wouldn’t trip over himself. 

“My cane!” Joly said, dropping it by accident as Grantaire dragged him away. 

“I will buy you a new one.” Grantaire said. Operatives were on their tails, there was no way he could go back. 

Bossuet cried out in pain ahead of them, clutching at his leg. Grantaire slung his bag (along with Joly’s, he hadn’t even realized he’d grabbed it) over his shoulder and grabbed Bossuet by the arm, pulling it over his shoulder so the man could lean on him. 

The amorphous mass that was Grantaire, Joly, and Bossuet limped as fast as they could, but the Operatives were gaining speed at an alarming rate. Grantaire was sure it was the end for them. 

Then he heard it, the most beautiful sound in the world. The obnoxious song-honk of Courfeyrac’s Baby. 

“Hell yes, my distress call made it through!” Joly cheered. The sound of lasers going off outside reached their ears, and half of the Operatives ran off towards the door. Grantaire let go of Joly and Bossuet, pulling out his gun. 

They fought their way to the front of the building and saw Courfeyrac and Cosette gunning down Operatives. They were shouting something at the others, but it was probably just “Get in the car, you fucking idiots”. 

They got in the car. Courfeyrac and Cosette followed soon after. The backseat was a mess of Grantaire trying to help/get out of the way of Joly who was trying to get a look at Bossuet’s wounded leg. 

“What the fuck, guys?” Courfeyrac yelled back at them, “I thought you were going on an easy mission.” 

“We were,” Joly said bitterly, “It it looks like someone didn’t do their research on the location.” 

“Hey Cosette, why are you here?” Grantaire asked, trying to change the topic so Joly wouldn’t rant about Enjolras being a tyrant like he had twice during the course of the mission. 

“Funny story, actually.” She said, “You see, Courfeyrac was driving me home like the gentleman he is-” 

“I just needed to get out of the house.” Courfeyrac admitted.

“And we heard your distress call and I said ‘well, we are in the neighborhood.’ and Courf was like ‘are you sure, they’ll probably be fine.’ and I was like ‘I mean, it’s Bossuet.’ and then he decided that yeah, you guys probably did need rescuing.” She continued, unfazed by his interruption. 

“Hey, maybe your bad luck is so bad that it’s becoming good luck.” Grantaire said hopefully to Bossuet. Bossuet just groaned in pain. 

The rest of the drive passed slowly in relative silence. 

…

After making sure Bossuet was mostly okay, Grantaire went down to the makeshift radio station. Jehan was there, pointedly not looking at Enjolras and announcing music with less good humor than normal. Enjolras was reading over some notes. Grantaire glanced at the clock on the wall. They had 15 minutes until Enjolras was on the air, that was plenty of time to have a quick chat. 

“Hey Enjolras.” Grantaire said, walking up to the man. Jehan glanced up and excused himself from the room, letting the music run by itself. Enjolras didn’t respond, but he did look up. He wasn’t even glaring. Grantaire took this as a good sign. “So, I just wanted to talk about what Jehan said yesterday.” 

“What about it?” Enjolras said flatly, looking back down at his notes.

“Uh, I think that what Jehan said about you killing yourself was a little harsh,” Grantaire lied. He honestly thought that everything Jehan said was pretty warranted, but it still seemed to upset Enjolras and Grantaire wanted to start this on a polite note. “And I’m sorry for ranting a little, I was just frazzled from the mission I was on.”

“You’re not here to apologize, so spit it out.” Enjolras set down his notes, crossing his arms. 

“Okay,” Grantaire said, trying to keep his cool and remain diplomatic. He really wanted to grab Enjolras by the shoulders and yell at him to calm down, but that didn’t sound like it’d be very effective, so he didn’t. “ It’s just, you’ve been sending everyone out on all these dangerous missions lately, and honestly it’s pretty terrifying. I mean, today we almost got captured or killed and Bossuet got hurt pretty badly. I was pretty sure we were going to die for a minute there.” Grantaire admitted. Maybe he could make Enjolras sympathize with him. 

“I’m not expecting anyone to do anything I’m not willing to do.” Enjolras said, his voice rising defensively. He didn’t like to think he was endangering his friends, but it was for the greater good. 

“Yeah, and that’s also kind of what I wanted to talk about.” Grantaire said, “It’s just, when I joined the Amis I didn’t get into it for this vigilante justice or whatever, I came here to get away from the psychos in the city. You’re expecting too much out of us, Apollo. You’re expecting too much out of yourself.” 

Enjolras flinched slightly at the nickname. Right now, it felt like the real R, _his_ R was talking to him. He hated to let the man down, but he straightened his shoulders and looked the other man right in the eyes.

“If this isn’t what you signed up for, by all means, you are free to leave. Maybe we’d get more done without you around slowing us down.” He said, and he picked up his headphones, signalling the conversation as over. 

“Is that what you want?” Grantaire persisted, earning another glare, “For me to leave?” 

No. “Yes.” Enjolras said, spiteful even to himself, “I want you to get out of my sight.” 

Grantaire nodded, trying not to let the hurt show in his eyes. Years of controlling his emotions in the city facility had made him a master at that, and he left the room looking blank. 

Enjolras switched off the music as the song faded out and spoke into the microphone, “Welcome back rebels, this is Enjolras, signing on to 107.5 TFII. Today I’d like to speak out on a rather important issue. It’s come to my attention that some of you in our sister branches across the wastelands may not be up to the challenge that comes with being an Ami.” He cleared his throat before beginning again. “I’d like to remind you all of our little motto we share with tomorrow comes, ‘The future is inevitable’. That being said if you aren’t ready to fight for the future and even risk dying at the hands of the Ops you have no right to complain about the bullshit Tomorrow Comes forces upon this city!” 

He stood up, “If you can’t handle that fact then you’re not cut out for Les Amis! Everyday we are out there, in the wastelands, in the city, risking our lives for those that are too weak to stand up for their own freedom! Those too drug dependent and battered! If you’re able bodied and still sitting back and taking it you may as well be in the city with the rest of those pigs that have the gall-” Enjolras’ voice reached its peak volume and the man broke down into a fit of coughs. He’d been straining himself, too caught up in the moment. He wheezed, reaching for the button to cut out the broadcast. He switched it off, covering his mouth and sinking against the bar. As the coughing died down he looked down at his hands with watery eyes. They were covered in droplets of blood. He quickly wiped some of it off on the counter, wiping his mouth with his sleeve to get off the remaining blood. “God dammit…” He mumbled, burying his face in his hands. 

…

A week later, Marius, Courfeyrac, and Jehan had begun to set things up in Valjean’s bunker for a television broadcast. The Musain didn’t have the generator power to run the equipment needed for it. In a random happenstance, the Amis’ place was finally discovered by some Operatives, and they had to relocate to Valjean’s to hide for a while. 

Grantaire had never met the man before. He rode over in silence with Enjolras, who wasn’t speaking to him, Combeferre, Jehan, and Courfeyrac. 

Combeferre was worried. Enjolras had been coughing through most of the night, every night. If Enjolras wanted to keep his illness a secret he’d probably suffocate himself holding in his coughing. 

When they pulled up in front of the massive, cylindrical bunker that was painted to blend into the sand, Grantaire watched as the others got out and talked to Valjean like an old friend. He was mildly worried, Marius obviously idolized the man and Cosette clearly loved him, so he was afraid of making a poor first impression. 

“Sorry, we won’t be taking up your space for too long.” Enjolras was saying to the man as Grantaire got out of the car, he just laughed the leader off. 

“Don’t worry, Courf has decided to build portable walls. He promised they’ll be semi sound proof, apparently some of your friends get kind of loud?” He asked, looking amused. 

“You have no idea.” Grantaire muttered, earning the man’s attention. 

“You must be Grantaire! Cosette and Marius have told me a lot about you. A fellow dog on the run from the law?” He asked jovially. Grantaire laughed a little. 

“Aren’t we all?” 

“Come on, boys. Everyone else is inside, let’s have some lunch.” Valjean said, turning to go. 

“I actually have a thing-” Enjolras began, but Valjean turned to him with a disapproving glare.

“We’re having lunch.” He said, leaving no room for argument. Everyone followed him inside. 

…

Over lunch (and extending somewhat beyond through dinner) Grantaire and Valjean bonded. 

“So, were they still using numbers for prisoners, or did they run out by now?” Valjean asked. 

“Nah, still numbers. I was 82473.” Grantaire said with a shrug. 

“Charmed, I was 24601.” Valjean said, sticking out his hand to shake Grantaire’s as if they were meeting for the first time, but as their former selves, prisoners. 

“24601.” Grantaire repeated with the easy rhythm that came from memorizing everyone and everything as a number. Valjean hadn’t heard his name spoken like that in years, it kind of made his skin crawl. 

It turned out that the man also had his memory wiped by Tomorrow Comes, but for different reasons. 

“What were the different reasons?” Grantaire had asked. Valjean merely shrugged. 

“I never really found out what I did to anger them so much, but wiping memories was a pretty common practice back then. They didn’t really have the contentment drug worked out all the way or their selective memory wipes, so they basically blocked off the whole memory portion of your brain.” 

“That’s terrifying.” Jehan chimed in, from where he was listening. 

The conversation continued and by the time they were supposed to be eating dinner, Valjean and Grantaire had been sitting there for hours, Amis coming and going, interjecting on their conversations. 

Currently, Valjean, Cosette, and Marius were educating Grantaire on how New Paris was created. 

“You see, when my parents were still alive, mathematically speaking, there was this huge war. It was basically hired guns versus disgruntled citizens who didn’t want to be forced into the contented slavery that Tomorrow Comes promised.” Valjean said, 

“Tomorrow Comes used to be a huge corporation, but separate from the government. There were things you could buy that weren’t government property.” Marius said, “But Tomorrow Comes wanted to rule everything, and they had enough money to hire guns and bombs.”

“Apparently this Corporation Uprising happened all over the country. It was much bigger than it is now. The companies bought out individual soldiers in the government’s military and paid them to fight their own men.” Cosette chimed in. 

“Tomorrow Comes was really big in the western part of the country, particularly in the areas formerly known as California and Nevada. They got a little trigger happy and nuked the desert though, and only those who got to bomb shelters made it out alive.” Marius added. 

“When everyone came up out of the rubble, the only thing standing in the center of the city formerly known as Las Vegas was a huge replica of the Eiffel Tower, a monument in Paris, France. Hence the name, ‘New Paris.’” Valjean said, ending the story. 

“But what about the other areas? You said California and Nevada were huge.” Grantaire asked, invested in this story.

“Well, you see, Las Vegas was at the very bottom of Nevada, so it didn’t get hit as hard as everywhere else. There’s too much desert east to explore and too much radiation from the bombs north of here.” Valjean supplied with a shrug, “All survivors were brought to New Paris and it became a larger city than any in the former United States.” 

“Damn. So what happened to the other areas?” Grantaire asked. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone to try to go through the wastelands to get anywhere else, or at least, I’ve never met anyone who tried and lived to tell the tale.” Valjean said.

… 

The conversation turned again, later in the night, to how Marius had gotten into the Amis. 

“Wait, I thought you came from the city.” Grantaire said, confused. “Wouldn’t you have just joined up?” 

“Actually, it’s kind of a long story.” Marius said, looking slightly embarrassed.

“He ran away from home when he was sixteen.” Cosette said, “And he decided that he wanted to live in the desert with no money and no supplies.” 

“My grandfather was a dick and my father was in the facility for some crime.” Marius explained, “I just couldn’t stand it anymore and I knew that if I tried to run away and stay in the city I’d just have my medication dose upped and have to live with my grandfather again.”

“So then you met Valjean and Cosette?” Grantaire guessed. Marius shook his head. 

“No, I met Montparnasse.” 

Grantaire laughed, “You’re joking, right?” He looked at Valjean, “He’s joking.” 

“I’m afraid not.” Valjean said, suppressing a grin. 

“So, did he threaten to kill you or try to seduce you or what?” Grantaire asked. 

“I mean, he pointed a gun at me, but that’s pretty par for the course out here. Eponine said that he was trying to flirt with me, but I didn’t get it, so…” He shrugged. 

“He’s a little dense to that. Just a tad.” Cosette said fondly. 

“He, uh… He hired me on for a little while. I learned how to do all the computer stuff I know now. I mean, I’ve always been pretty good at it, but I got a lot better with more motivation and nothing to do.” Marius said, “Other than tech stuff, I did all the accounting.”

“He was really good at it.” Cosette said, “He does it for the Amis, but the Patron Minette needed a lot more attention in that area.” 

“Apparently he saved them several thousand dollars.” Valjean added, “He was very good at his job.” 

“Wow.” Grantaire said, impressed. He’d never seen more than a couple hundred dollars, and that was only when they were buying food supplies for the month at Thenardier’s Slightly Legal Shop. He didn’t know the Patron Minette even dealt in money, they seemed to be all about the bartering system. 

“He found us a year later.” Cosette added, “And right after, the Amis broke out of the city. He asked to be able to go live with us, which Montparnasse allowed, and then he asked to join the Amis, which he was pretty upset about, but he also allowed.” 

“Parnasse cried.” Marius added, “And gave me like three thousand dollars. I mean, I was already getting paid, but it was a nice bonus.” 

“Wait, the Patron Minette was paying you and you just left for the Amis? Why?” Grantaire asked. 

“Well, uh… I didn’t exactly know how shady the Patron Minette was.” Marius admitted, “They uh, used euphemisms for most of the illegal stuff in their books.” 

“So wait, what did you think they were selling?” 

“Uh… shoes.” 

Grantaire nearly died of laughter. 

…

The next afternoon they were broadcasting from the back of Valjean's bunker, everyone carefully making their way around as they tried to be as quiet as possible while Jehan was on air. Enjolras was sitting beside Jehan, leaning up against Valjean's table where they set the radio up. He'd been feeling pretty weak all morning but he had been able to play it off as if he was just tired, not having gotten too much sleep the previous night. After a cup of sludge, though, Enjolras was adequately awake and still feeling just as shitty. He was almost completely zoned out when Jehan introduced him over the radio.

"Good afternoon," Enjolras began a little slowly, rubbing his head. God, he was dizzy. Jehan was looking at him with concern. Enjolras gave him a look back to somehow signal that he was fine. He wasn't sure if it worked, but Jehan went back to playing with the various switches and buttons on the radio board. "Today I'm broadcasting from the humble abode of one of the friends of the resistance since, if you were listening yesterday, you heard the little spot of trouble we found ourselves in with that surprise raid," Enjolras cleared his throat, causing him to cough a little more. "But I'm here to assure you that Les Amis are still alive and well, working just as hard as ev-er..." Enjolras's voice wavered as his vision began to go blurry. He couldn't think of what to say next... What to say next... What to say... The broadcast cut out right after a loud thunk and a scream from Jehan.

"Enjolras!"


	6. The Only Hope For You is Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras is laid up in bed due to his illness, and no one knows how they're going to survive when he's gone...

Enjolras’s eyes slowly fluttered open. The ceiling didn’t really look like the one from his room, but who was he to judge? The ceiling was allowed to look however it wanted to look. He was tired. More sleep would probably help. 

Realization rushed through him like cold water in his veins. His eyes shot open. 

“The broadcast.” He croaked, his throat painfully dry. He’d never finished the broadcast. 

“Woah, take it easy, Apollo.” A familiar voice said. Enjolras looked to the side and the world swayed a little before R came into view. 

“R?” He rasped. The man helped him sit up and held a cup of water to his lips. Enjolras drank. 

“Yep, that’s me. Grantaire, nurse extraordinaire.” He said. Enjolras finished drinking. 

“Grantaire.” He said. Not R. Oh well. “What happened with the broadcast?” 

“Well, Jehan assured everyone that you didn’t die and Valjean carried you out like a princess.” Grantaire summed up, “Dude is crazy strong.” 

Enjolras sighed in relief. “Wait.” He gave Grantaire a look, “Like a princess?” He didn’t seem amused.

“An elected princess. So majestic.” Grantaire assured him, “I swooned.” He coughed awkwardly, “So, uh. Combeferre told us something.”

Enjolras was still feeling pretty out of it, so he didn’t quite pick up on what Grantaire meant right away. “About what?” He sat up, rubbing his head.

“He said that, uh, you’re sick… um. And that it’s terminal.” He said, looking more at Enjolras’s hand than at his face, “Uh, I just wanted to know if you needed any help with, um… anything?” 

Enjolras’ expression fell, “No. I don’t need anything. The last time I needed you you disappeared off the face of the earth.” Enjolras looked away. He couldn’t believe Combeferre had told everyone. 

“I… what?” Grantaire racked his brains, but he couldn’t think of anything he’d done to upset Enjolras lately. Aside from those weird dreams he’d been having with a strangely young looking version of the man, but he wrote that off as him being insane. “Wait, is this about how you told me to leave the other day? I didn’t really disappear off the planet, I was more hiding in Combeferre’s lab.”

“It’s not that you idiot! Are you really that dense?” Enjolras raised his voice a little too much, having to stop for a fit of coughs. Finally, they subsided, “Grantaire- no- R, do you remember that stupid story I told you on the air a few months back? About the artist? Everyone else has figured it out, everyone else other than you.” He’d balled his fists while he was talking, gripping the sheets tightly, “That was _you_ R! You’re that stupid teenage graffiti artist that I fell for!” 

“Wait, you knew who I was all this time and you kept it from me?” Grantaire asked, his eyes going wide. Enjolras could see hurt written all over his face, before it did that thing where he shut down, features expressionless. “I don’t believe you.” 

“What’s not to believe? They may have brainwashed you and took away your memories but the only thing you need is a little bit of common sense to add two and two together.” Enjolras snapped.

“No, I don’t believe _you_.” Grantaire specified, crossing his arms and frowning slightly, “I was right about you from the moment we met. You’re nothing but a liar. And to think that you can just justify lying to me by saying I should have worked it out? I can’t believe you. I trusted that you would have told me something that important, but obviously I _can’t _trust you to tell _anyone_ anything.” He gestured vaguely at Enjolras, indicating the current state he was in. __

__Before Enjolras could say anything more to defend himself Grantaire got up, he didn’t want to hear it._ _

__“R, wait.” Enjolras said, and Grantaire looked back at him. Enjolras opened his mouth, hopeful that Grantaire was going to listen to whatever he had to say._ _

__“Courfeyrac is pissed, by the way.” Grantaire said, not letting the other man speak. He left the room._ _

__…_ _

__Grantaire sat on Eponine’s bed in her little makeshift room. Courfeyrac hadn’t gotten around to making the portable walls yet, except for the infirmary. Actually, Courfeyrac had been rushing around a lot lately, not even stopping in to see Enjolras when the news got out that he was awake. Grantaire figured Courfeyrac was just more mad than he let on. Besides, the place came with curtain-separators, so it was okay._ _

__“I just… I can’t believe him.” Grantaire huffed, covering his face. “How could he not tell me something that important?”_ _

__“You have every right to be angry.” Eponine said, “That was a dick move.”_ _

__“Well now, I’m sure he had some good reasoning.” Jehan piped up from where he was seated on the floor._ _

__Grantaire had dubbed this the “R Pity Party, bring your own refreshments”. Much to his distress, there had been no partying or refreshments, only him complaining and the others commenting._ _

__“No one asked you, slut.”_ _

__“I was giving my opinion, bitch.”_ _

__“Ladies, please.” Grantaire muttered, “This is not the time.”_ _

__Jehan and Eponine had had this whole fake-rivalry going on. Grantaire wasn’t sure why. Aside from the fact that they both dated and broke up with Montparnasse, there was no real reason for them to be so bitchy. He’d asked Marius once when they were talking before going to sleep and Marius reasoned it was the shoes. Both of them had identical shoes and they both thought the other was committing a fashion crime. Grantaire was pretty sure Marius was stealing Cosette’s theory, but he never called him on it._ _

__“Sorry, sweetie.” Jehan said at the same time Eponine said “Sorry bro.” They glared._ _

__“This was a bad idea.” Grantaire groaned, “You guys are absolutely no help at all. I should have asked Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta to hang out with me.”_ _

__“They’re on a mission, remember?” Gavroche piped up from the floor. He had also been invited to the Pity Party, but he was exiled to the “kids table”, aka the painted square on the floor._ _

__“I should have asked Marius and Cosette.” Grantaire amended._ _

__“Cosette maybe, but Marius…” Jehan trailed off._ _

__“Marius has about all the tact of a boulder.” Eponine supplied. Jehan nodded. Grantaire sighed._ _

__“Hey, I had a favor to ask.” Jehan said, making Grantaire look up at him._ _

__“Oh god, what now?”_ _

__“So everyone’s going to be out on missions during the normal radio times, finding a new place to live, working on the resistance drug, setting up the television thing, you know, the usual.” Jehan said._ _

__“Yeah?”_ _

__“So the only people here consistently are going to be you and Gavroche, so we were wondering if you’d like to be the radio host for a while?” Jehan asked, looking at Grantaire with puppy eyes. And how could Grantaire say no to that?_ _

__…_ _

__For the better part of two days Enjolras had been nothing but a ball of negative emotions. Despite this, all of the Amis had came to his bedside to try and cheer him up. Courfeyrac had even stopped by once. It was only to call Enjolras an asshole before leaving. The only person who hadn’t come by was Grantaire, and Enjolras was seriously beginning to regret the way he’d acted toward the man._ _

__“Jehan?” Enjolras was sitting up in his bed, looking off in the distance as Jehan tried to reassure him that Courfeyrac wasn’t that mad at him._ _

__“I swear he’ll get over- huh? What is it, hun?” Jehan looked at Enjolras, who seemed to be off in another world._ _

__“...Do you think Grantaire is really that mad at me…? I know I was being an ass… but… I just thought it was going to come back to him naturally, how was I supposed to know he’d never remember?” Enjolras let out a deep sigh, burying his face in his hands, “Oh god, I fucked up…” He groaned, coughing a little._ _

__Jehan frowned, rubbing Enjolras’ back a little, “Why don’t you just apologize? I can go get him for you, if you’d like.” Jehan smiled a little as Enjolras looked up at him with desperate pleading eyes. “I’ll be right back.”_ _

__…_ _

__A few minutes and threats of bodily harm later, Grantaire was entering Enjolras’s room, frowing._ _

__“Jehan said you wanted to see me?” He asked, not meeting the leader’s eyes._ _

__“I’m sorry.” Enjolras sighed, “Really, I didn’t mean to lie to you- I just didn’t want to tell you your whole past- who you were… I wanted you to remember it on your own. I just didn’t expect it to take so long…”_ _

__“Yeah.” Grantaire sighed, leaning against the wall. “Didn’t think that one through, did you?”_ _

__“I didn’t…” Enjolras admitted, “I’m sorry.”_ _

__Grantaire sighed. Why did Enjolras have to be all apologetic? Now he felt like an asshole. “I’m still mad.”_ _

__“... I know.” Enjolras said, “That’s all I wanted to say. Sorry to bother you.” The revolutionary looked as if he’d finally been defeated. All of the months of sickness showed on his face like a Melpomene tragedy mask. He was thinner than Grantaire had remembered him looking, his eyes dull and somehow still glassy and his expression was twisted into something of a mix of sadness and pain. “I really hope you can forgive me for this one day… but if you can’t I’d understand.”_ _

__Grantaire’s resolve crumbled. He walked over to the bed and took Enjolras’s hand. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” He asked, sitting on the edge of the bed._ _

__“So I’ve been told.” Enjolras looked up, smiling a little as Grantaire sat down._ _

__“I just… you know R, the one you want, he’s never going to be me, right? And I’m never going to be him. I just… I don’t even remember what it was like to be that person. So you can’t expect me to still be him.” Grantaire said. He’d had a huge, rambling, ranting speech planned out in his head, with angry voice raising and cues for Eponine to step in and go “ooooh”, but that hardly seemed appropriate now. Still, he needed to get his point across._ _

__“I know that. And I know it must seem stupid, since to you we’ve hardly known each other for even a year, but… despite everything, R… Grantaire. Despite everything I still really do like you. Even if I did break that lovely nose of yours.” He snorted a little._ _

__“One hell of a first impression, I gotta say. Permanent reminder of the day I met you.” Grantaire laughed, “And I really do like you too.”_ _

__Enjolras scoffed a little, feeling better already. “Really? And I thought I was an asshole?”_ _

__“Oh, you are.” Grantaire assured him, “But sometimes I can catch you off guard and you act like a normal human being.”_ _

__Enjolras blushed a little bit, covering up his face, “Oh god, this all just sounds like a bad romance novel, doesn’t it?”_ _

__“Well, I wouldn’t know. Only been out here experiencing pop culture for a year, and for some reason those were not on my list of priorities.” Grantaire reasoned, “Why, are you calling us a cliche?”_ _

__“No, I’m not,” Enjolras laughed a little at Grantaire’s lack of knowledge of the world. “At least I don’t think I am?” He smiled back at the brunette. “Are we an _us_?” Enjolras suddenly thought about Grantaire’s choice of words._ _

__“I mean, do you want us to be an us?” Grantaire asked, suddenly nervous._ _

__“I mean… that’s probably not a great idea…” Enjolras began._ _

__“Oh.” Grantaire’s face fell. “I mean, if you don’t want to…”_ _

__“Because I’m dying you asshole,” Enjolras teased, gently pushing Grantaire. “But I’m going to be selfish and just say it… I want to.”_ _

__“Oh man, death won’t stop me. Even if we weren’t dating, that would have been a one-way ticket to Grantaire’s Personal Hell, so I might as well enjoy the ride.” Grantaire said. Enjolras laughed, and even though it was interrupted by a small fit of coughing, Grantaire swore it was the most beautiful sound in the world._ _

__…_ _

__“Hey Gavroche,” Courfeyrac, unseen for almost two days, said, scaring everyone except the child in question._ _

__“Yeah?” Gavroche asked, perking up. He’d been stuck in the bunker all day and Courfeyrac always promised adventure._ _

__“Ask Eponine if it’s okay if you come with me for a drive, I’ve got an errand or two to run that call for your special abilities.”_ _

__Gavroche’s “special abilities” were limited to only two: The ability to spit gum straight into the air and catch it in his mouth and the ability to steal anything, anywhere, anytime, as long as there were no cameras and the object in question was roughly ten pounds or less._ _

__Gavroche ran off._ _

__“Eponine!” He called, running for her. “Ponine!”_ _

__“What?” She asked, turning to her brother with fond annoyance._ _

__“Eponine, Courf said he wanted to take me for a drive, but I’ve got to ask you.” He said_ _

__It was a good call. Once he’d just absconded with the child and Eponine had gone on a rampage. Never again._ _

__“Yeah, radio me if you’re in trouble though, I’ll get you out.” She said, waving him away._ _

__“Or at least get me bail.” Gavroche added, “The family motto.”_ _

__“You bet your ass, kid. Now get going, otherwise Courf will leave without you. And tell him that it wouldn’t kill him to visit Enjolras. I visited him, for fuck’s sake.”_ _

__Gavroche saluted and ran back._ _

__“Kids.” Eponine sighed to Cosette, whose hair she had been braiding. Cosette, who turned into a cat whenever someone touched her hair, just hummed._ _

__…_ _

__A week passed by quickly, and soon one week turns into two. After Courfeyrac’s mission with Gavroche, he’d gone back to being AWOL, but Combeferre wasn’t worried, so everyone figured that he must be checking in._ _

__Enjolras was still basically bedridden, and the visits from the Amis dwindled as they focused on the missions he had laid out for them before he got sick. Combeferre, Jehan, and Grantaire visited him every day, of course. Grantaire really only left his side for the radio broadcast._ _

__And then there was Feuilly. Feuilly was a man of many things, but he was not really good at being open with his feelings. While Enjolras and Co. grew up in the North Sector, where everyone was intelligent and their contentment dosages were lowered to allow them to think outside the box, Feuilly had come from the South Sector, where the factories loomed and everyone’s dosage was two times the average amount, something that took a number on the kidneys, but Tomorrow Comes never cared._ _

__So he’d never been good with his bedside manner. Bahorel was a loud, emotional wall, which no one really gave him credit for because of his size. He’d have been better at talking to Enjolras._ _

__So for a while, Feuilly tried to go about business as usual. Talk to Enjolras about plans or whatever. That failed nearly every time he came in and saw Grantaire holding a blood soaked tissue or Joly administering cough medicine, which was the best they had for now._ _

__Then he started to just leave things. He used to make fans in a factory in the South Sector right out of high school. Hand held fans were all the rage in the more wealthy Sectors, so that’s what he made. And so he made them for Enjolras._ _

__Enjolras noticed after the fourth time that Feuilly was trying to tell him something. It wasn’t until the tenth fan that he realized that the man wasn’t giving him a distinct message, more like he just wanted Enjolras to know he cared._ _

__“That or he thinks you’re really hot.” Grantaire suggested when Enjolras told him of his revelation._ _

__“Feuilly’s love is more pure than that.” Enjolras huffed._ _

__It was a funny thing to say about the man who loudly had sex with his partner in the middle of the landing at any given hour of the day and constantly had the ‘love marks’ (which were actually more like huge dark bruises and scratches all over), to prove it. He showed them off as often as he could. Today, however, Feuilly was sitting beside Bahorel in the desert sun. The larger man had insisted on getting a tan for whatever reason, and Feuilly was forced to hide underneath a large umbrella if he wanted to spend time with him._ _

__“Eponine, and you and I are supposed to go out on a mission in a few days.” Feuilly was running his hand through Bahorel’s short, choppy hair cut as the man basked in the sun._ _

__“What are we doing?” He asked, scratching his beard a little._ _

__“We’re going to bring some supplies to one of the orphanages in the wastelands. They’re running a little low on food and water and for once we actually have a surplus of it.” Feuilly replied. He looked down at Bahorel when he felt the man shift positions onto his side so he could look at Feuilly without the sun in his eyes._ _

__“It’s kind of funny,” Bahorel began._ _

__“What is?” Feuilly asked, looking down at the thoughtful expression on the brunette’s face._ _

__“Nevermind, nevermind.” Bahorel brushed it off, laying back down._ _

__“Hey you asshole, you can’t just start talking like that and not finish.” Feuilly playfully punched Bahorel in the arm._ _

__“I can and I will. It’s stupid anyways.” Bahorel ignored his ginger companion, closing his eyes again. When it was silent for just a little too long he opened his eyes only to be pounced on by his lover._ _

__Feuilly grinned, straddling the bigger man and pulling him up by the collar so that they were at eye level with each other, “Come on, tell me.”_ _

__Bahorel smirked at Feuilly, leaning in to nuzzle his boyfriend’s nose, “And they think I’m the indecent one.”_ _

__“They don’t know shit.” Feuilly gave Bahorel a soft kiss on the lips before letting go of his collar. “But tell me, what were you going to say?”_ _

__Bahorel smiled sheepishly, blushing a little, “Well, it’s just too bad, the way things are, I mean.” Feuilly cocked his head a little in confusion, not following. “If the world were different, I’d have really liked to have settled down with you, adopted a little brat… been parents.” He let out a long sigh, “But with the way everything is right now it’s just not safe in this world for a kid and we’re busy serving vigilante justice anyhow.”_ _

__Feuilly’s heart melted a little as he leaned in, giving his boyfriend a long, sweet kiss. When he finally pulled away, he smiled. “Well, then we should really get on making this world a better place for our future brat. What were you thinking, a boy, or a girl?”_ _

__…_ _

__With Cosette and Combeferre’s help over the last couple of months, Grantaire had been remembering things, little by little. Now that Enjolras was there to tell him who he’d been before, he was remembering more and more. In only two weeks he’d remembered more than he had in most of his time out here in the wastelands, excluding the time he flashbacked because of Eponine’s arrival._ _

__He could remember being in the city, free to walk around. He remembered his hands being stained with paint, and he remembered seeing his house, walking towards it. He couldn’t remember specific events or even people. He couldn’t remember his parents or his friends (if he had any) or meeting Enjolras, but he could remember little, everyday things._ _

__He drew pictures for Enjolras. Mostly of random things from the city that he was remembering. His front door, a wall with a blood red spray painted heart and a huge, swooping R, actual bread. Sometimes he drew pictures of their friends or of things in the desert, but it seemed pointless and it made Enjolras sad, so he stopped. Soon Enjolras’s curtain-walls were covered in art, and it was almost enough to make him forget he was dying._ _

__Enjolras knew that Grantaire was taking over the radio show, but he had yet to hear it. He was half afraid that Grantaire was spouting cynical bullshit to the rest of the wastelands, telling them that everything was pretty pointless and that they should just say “fuck it” and go back on their meds. The area where the radio show was broadcast was too far away from Enjolras’s bed for him to hear too, unless absolutely everyone else was gone. Then he could hear the faintest murmur of Grantaire’s voice in the background._ _

__One day when he was feeling particularly not-sick, Enjolras ventured out of bed, pausing a lot for air and quiet bouts of coughing. It was strange to think that two weeks ago he was standing and fighting. But that’s how this thing worked, one day you’re (relatively) fine and the next you feel like you’re about to keel over and die. Combeferre gave him two months. Enjolras had yet to tell Grantaire._ _

__“Coming at you from an undisclosed location in the Northern Wastelands,” Enjolras heard Gavroche (who was not supposed to be touching any of the radio equipment, by the way) say from behind the curtains, “Heeeeeere’s R!”_ _

__Gavroche applauded loudly. It was kind of pathetic, one person applause, but the kid really went for it._ _

__“Hey all you dudes, dudettes, and dude-ambiguous people out there, this is R the Artist! Soon we’ll have some new music from our ex-con’s personal jazz collection, but for now here’s the Traffic.” Enjolras pulled back a curtain to see Grantaire sitting with his back to him._ _

__He could have sworn Jehan gave him some sort of script he and Feuilly had cooked up, but Grantaire seemed to be blatantly disregarding it. Right now he was just spreading some trashy rumors about one of The Students shacking up with someone. Enjolras shook his head, but smiled._ _

__“Now, for your afternoon weather, it’s going to be hot as hell all day and then colder than cold at night, so keep weather-appropriate clothes on and do not go out partying in nothing but a thong and a feather boa at night, Jehan. Yeah, I know you’re listening.” Grantaire was saying. Enjolras snorted. He could almost hear Jehan yelling from wherever he was “That was _one time_!”_ _

__Grantaire glanced back and grinned at Enjolras, winking. “Now, before we get to that jazz that I’m sure all of you are just _dying_ to hear, I’ve got a little message from the Amis for you.” _ _

__Enjolras held his breath, this is what he was worried about._ _

__“I know that sometimes it seems hopeless.” Grantaire said, looking down at his paper. “This desert is probably the worst, most uncomfortable place on the fucking planet, and we’re all probably going to get cancer eventually because of the radiation exposure, and sometimes there’s only dog food to eat. But just remember, even if you want to go back to the city, what they promise is a lie. A haze of drugs and working-till-you-die. All you rebels out there would be reconditioned and forced to forget your friends, your family, your home.” Grantaire glanced back at Enjolras, “Besides, even if the desert sucks, the fucking view is worth it. Cue up the jams, Gav!”_ _

__“Roger!” Gavroche said, saluting and putting on some smooth jazz. The kid started to dance, rocking out like Joly in a mosh pit. Enjolras didn’t get it. Kids._ _

__“Hey.” Grantaire said, slipping off the headphones, “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”_ _

__“I felt a little better.” Enjolras said, walking over and sitting on Grantaire’s lap so he wouldn’t have to stand anymore._ _

__“You guys are gross.” Gavroche said, and he walked away, presumably to find a different radio to jam to his jazz in peace._ _

__“That’s good.” Grantaire said, brushing some hair off of Enjolras’s forehead. The man hadn’t noticed he was breathing hard from the effort of walking over. He cursed his lungs._ _

__“Yeah. And I wanted to hear you.”_ _

__“Well you know. That last part was mostly bullshit-”_ _

__Enjolras cut him off, pressing his lips to Grantaire’s. The man gave a surprised little jump, but melted immediately into the kiss, tangling his fingers in Enjolras’s hair._ _

__Grantaire didn’t really know what he was doing, didn’t really remember ever kissing anyone before, aside from a few soft pecks for Enjolras over the past few weeks. Enjolras clearly did, however, and he kissed Grantaire with a need. A need for the other man, a need to be in control of something, anything. And Grantaire was more than willing to give that to him. Enjolras deepened the kiss, sucking on Grantaire’s lower lip. His mouth tasted metallic. The cynic started to wonder why they hadn’t been doing this all along._ _

__Too soon, it ended. Enjolras needed air to breathe (and to cough). After a small coughing fit, the revolutionary leaned contentedly back against his boyfriend._ _

__“You guys are so lucky that Enjolras isn’t contagious.” Jehan said, ruining the moment. Both the men must have had similar glares on their faces, because Jehan just laughed “Payback.”_ _

__…_ _

__Enjolras and Combeferre were sitting in the sick man’s room one day, quietly enjoying each other’s company. Combeferre had just finished telling him that the resistance drug from Grantaire’s testing was doing well in animal testing (rats), when Courfeyrac threw the curtain open with a loud WOOSH, knocking half of Grantaire’s drawings to the floor._ _

__“Shit.” Courfeyrac said, looking down at them, “I’ll get those in a sec. Jesus, I was just trying to make an entrance.”_ _

__“Jesus christ!” Combeferre jumped a little, “Where the hell have you been?” Combeferre adjusted his glasses._ _

__Enjolras blinked, “Courfeyrac.”_ _

__“I’m getting to that, Jesus.” Courfeyrac said. He was holding something behind his back. “First, Enj, you gotta tell me. Who is your best friend?”_ _

__Enjolras gave him a deadpan look, used to this game, “Combeferre.”_ _

__“No, fuck you, man. Am I at least a close second?” Courfeyrac pouted._ _

__Enjolras let out a deep sigh, “I suppose.” He sat up a little more in his bed, his serious expression changing into a slight smile, “But seriously, where have you been? I haven’t seen you in ages.” He was glad to finally see his best friend again._ _

__“Okay, I’m going to tell you, but you have to promise to keep me in the loop from now on.” Courfeyrac said, turning slightly more serious, “Because the R thing was bad enough and then you don’t tell me you’re _dying_? Dick move, man.” _ _

__“I’m sorry about that, the dying thing, I mean. Still really not that sorry about the Grantaire thing.” Enjolras frowned a little, “But I just didn’t want you guys to worry about me. There are far more important things to waste time on around here.”_ _

__“Dude, if it was one of us you would move hell and Earth to help. Which is kind of what I did.” He brought his arm from behind his back with a flourish. There was a bottle that contained about twenty pills, all stamped with the broken Eiffel Tower. “Drumroll please.”_ _

__No one drum rolled._ _

__“You guys suck.” Courfeyrac handed the bottle to Combeferre, who started reading the label. “So, you know that half of a car we have in the garage? Well, I fixed that fucker up into a fully working, beautiful, wonderful and magical speed machine. Then me and Gavroche stole about half of Thenardier’s backstock of spare parts and I made a bunch of those mini grenades. So I filled the trunk with the grenades and I told Montparnasse that if he could get me some of that god damned cure-all from the city, he could have it all.”_ _

__The cure-all was an extremely hard drug to get ahold of in the wastelands, since no one in New Paris really needed it unless they had an adverse reaction to some of the other medicines in the city. No one in the wastelands even had it because all the law abiding citizens were either given checkups every year or forced to move back to the city if their health was too bad._ _

__“This is real.” Combeferre said, surprised. “Enj, this could give you three more months.”_ _

__“No duh, do you think I’d let Montparnasse swindle me? I went with them to the city to make sure for myself.” Courfeyrac said, as though he didn’t have a longstanding dislike for Montparnasse ever since he dated Jehan._ _

__“You…” Enjolras looked up at Courfeyrac, eyes growing watery, “You did all that… for me?” He had never been one to get all choked up- in fact, he’d never been one to show any emotions other than anger and passion, but the gesture moved him to a state beyond those two emotions. He began to cry, quickly burying his face into his hands, “Thank you Courfeyrac,”_ _

__“Oh fuck!” Courfeyrac said, sliding to the side of the bed and awkwardly but comfortingly putting his hands on Enjolras’s shoulders, “Don’t cry, baby.”_ _

__“I’m sorry…” He sniffled, “I thought you hated me for a bit there.” He tried to wipe his eyes so that he looked like somewhat less of an emotional wreck but it didn’t help much._ _

__“Oh sweetie,” Courfeyrac took Enjolras’s hands in his own, “I could never hate you! You’re my best friend and I…” He sniffled, tearing up a little himself. He’d been crying basically all week so he thought he’d gotten it out of his system but apparently not. “I just… I don’t want you to die!”_ _

__Courfeyrac began to cry, loud, dramatic, ugly sobs. Combeferre’s lip quivered a little, seeing his two best friends as such wrecks. He walked over and pulled them both into an awkward hug._ _

__“Come on guys.” He said, taking a shuddery breath as tears escaped his eyes, “We’ve got to pull it together.”_ _

__Courfeyrac blubbered out an incomprehensible sentence._ _

__“What?” Enjolras asked through his tears._ _

__“I… When… When have I ever-ever been pulled together?” Courfeyrac asked, hiccupping halfway through his question. Combeferre and Enjolras let out hysterical, watery laughs._ _

__A few moments of laughter-crying passed, and they slowly calmed down._ _

__“Okay.” Courfeyrac said, tears still streaming down his face, but at a manageable level. He sniffled. “Okay.”_ _

__“Yeah.” Enjolras agreed, wiping at his eyes again._ _

__Combeferre cleared his throat._ _

__“Man.” Courfeyrac sighed, “I wanted to come in here all cool and save the day.”_ _

__“You did, Courf.” Enjolras said, patting his friend on the shoulder, “You really did.”_ _


	7. Traffic Report

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bahorel, Eponine, and Feuilly are on a mission that goes south.

All of the Amis were ecstatic when Combeferre informed then that Courfeyrac had just bought Enjolras a few more months’ time here in this desert wasteland with them. They had thrown a little party, everything was going great. Valjean had even gotten them something called Twinkies, which were soft yellow spongy tubes of cake with creamy filling, for the celebration before leaving on a trip to find some more medical supplies for the base. Enjolras could walk around without that many breaks. Life was happy. 

Two days later, Bahorel, Feuilly, and Eponine headed out for their mission to give the kids supplies. Eponine pretended to be disgusted while Bahorel and Feuilly giggled over the little children. Everyone was in good spirits. 

They had taken Courfeyrac’s slowest car, since it was an easy mission, and they were enjoying the drive. Eponine was half out the window, letting the wind mess up her hair. She grinned widely at the others, god she loved car rides. One of Jehan’s weird bands was playing music on the radio and Bahorel cranked it up, everyone dancing a little. 

“Hey, we’re gonna stop by the old saloon to grab some stuff for Courf, okay? Feuilly shouted over the music, “Combeferre asked us to grab some stuff for him since he used most of his shit up fixing the car for Enjolras.”

“Sounds good to me.” Eponine said, “I think I left Jehan’s scarf there and I really wanted to wear it again.” 

“Does he know you took that?” Bahorel asked, vaguely recalling Jehan looking for a scarf. 

“Does he really ever know?” She asked rhetorically. 

They got to the saloon in good time, rolling up and waltzing in the place like they owned it. They figured that the Operatives had stopped watching the house by now, they were safe. 

They collected most of what they came for, when Operatives came crashing in on the house. Bahorel didn’t know if they had been out to lunch or waiting for the right moment or sucking a dick or whatever, all he knew was that as soon as he heard guns, he was _out_. 

Good thing everyone in the wastelands had that very same instinct, because otherwise he would not have met up with Eponine and Feuilly outside, as if they planned it. There were too many Operatives outside for them to get to their car without getting shot. They were going to have to fight. 

“Aw yeah, my kind of party!” Bahorel yelled, grinning and shooting recklessly. Feuilly dragged him down behind the side of the house, narrowly avoiding getting shot. 

“Babe, I had him!” Bahorel whined. Feuilly glared. 

“Bahorel, you fuck. Be careful. This isn’t a game.” The shorter man hissed. Bahorel just laughed. 

“You worry too much, baby.” 

Feuilly looked like he was going to reply, but they heard Eponine yelling for them to come out and help her, so that’s what they did. 

The three of them had made it almost to the car, just a few Ops to kill and they’d be off. Suddenly, Eponine stopped shooting and dropped to the ground. Seeming to belatedly realize that she was, in fact, in pain, she screamed. 

“Eponine!” Feuilly shouted, reaching towards her. He couldn’t get her before he had to turn to kill an Op. Bahorel ran over while his boyfriend distracted them and scooped Eponine into his arms, punching an Operative that tried to stop him.

“I’ve got her!” He called to Feuilly. He was next to the car. Feuilly had the keys. “You have the keys!” 

“Fuck!” Feuilly yelled, digging in his pocket. 

“No!” Bahorel yelled, trying to simultaneously tell his boyfriend to defend himself and to warn him of the Operative that was pulling a trigger. “NO!” 

Feuilly crumpled to the ground for a moment, holding his stomach. Bahorel’s heart felt like someone was squeezing it. He couldn’t breathe. 

Feuilly’s right hand was still in his pocket. It moved, digging out the keys and throwing them to the stunned Bahorel, who caught them. 

“Get her out of here!” Feuilly said through gritted teeth. He took his hand off his stomach and picked up his gun, shooting at the Operatives who had taken the moment to regroup a little. “I’ll cover you, just go!” 

“NO!” Bahorel yelled, propping Eponine up against the car. She was clutching her collarbone, breathing oddly. “Don’t you fucking die.” He said, pressing her gun into her good hand. She nodded and started shooting shakily. 

Bahorel ran to his boyfriend, getting almost close enough to touch, before he was forced to stop and shoot. 

“Get the fuck out of here!” Feuilly yelled at him, force coming to his words from the pain in his voice. 

“I’m not leaving without you!” Bahorel cried desperately, his voice cracking slightly. 

“You need to get her out of here, she has a little brother to take care of!” Feuilly shot back, locking eyes with his lover. 

“No.” Bahorel said, his voice barely audible above the moans of pain from the half-dead Operatives and the laser beams. 

“Leave me here, you bastard!” Feuilly yelled, “I love you, now go!” 

“I can’t!” Bahorel said desperately, gaining a step forward and losing three steps back. “I love you, I can’t!” 

“Think about Gavroche!” Feuilly was trying not to cry. He couldn’t impair his aim, he had to give them a clean getaway. 

“I-” Bahorel couldn’t finish, he couldn’t leave Gavroche without the only family that loved him. “I…” 

“You can’t think about yourself right now.” Feuilly reasoned. “Go.” 

“I love you.” Bahorel said, quiet, desperate. 

“I love you.” 

Bahorel backed up, unlocked the car, and set Eponine inside. She made a weak, pained noise and dropped her gun. Bahorel took one last look at Feuilly, only to see him shot down without his covering fire. 

Bahorel grit his teeth and drove. 

“Pull over.” Eponine said. It had been ten minutes into their drive. Home was half an hour away. 

“What?” Bahorel asked, trying to choke back tears. 

“Pull over.” Eponine repeated. Bahorel pulled over. Eponine took Jehan’s scarf, now soaked with blood, and gave it to Bahorel. 

“You are going to give this to Gavroche.” She said, it was the only thing she had to give her brother right now, aside from all of the love in her entire body. But that wasn’t exactly something you could wrap. “You’re going to give it to him and you’re going to tell him that…” She paused, trying to get air, “That I love him and that he can be whoever he wants to be and he doesn’t have to take anyone’s shit, especially not dad’s.” 

“Eponine, you can tell him yourself. And that’s Jehan’s scarf.” Bahorel didn’t know why he felt the need to point out the second fact. Maybe this was that shock thing that Joly was always checking people for. 

Eponine laughed, the sound raspy and broken in the silent car. Bahorel could have sworn they left the radio on when they got out. “Yeah. It’s great, he’ll never get it back now.” She said, coughing. There was blood, more and more blood. 

“We have to keep driving.” Bahorel said urgently. He couldn’t fuck this up, he couldn’t fail Feuilly like that. 

“Yeah, I’d like that. Can you turn the radio on? I hope Enjolras is in charge, I don’t want to listen to Jehan’s shitty music.” She said, a faraway look in her eyes. Bahorel nodded and pulled back onto the road. 

Eponine lifted a hand from where it was hanging, limp, and pressed the button for the window. She wanted to feel the wind in her hair. Faint strains of music came through to her as she closed her eyes against the caress of wind on her face. Good, it was Enjolras’s turn DJing. 

_“Maybe you’re the runner up, but the first one to lose the race. Almost only really counts in horseshoes and handgrenades”_

When they were ten minutes away, Bahorel tried to feel for Eponine’s pulse. He couldn’t find one, but he chalked that up to his hands shaking too much. He’d tried to radio for help, but dropped his under the seat. He was a fucking mess. 

The car hadn’t even stopped when Bahorel threw it in park, making it lurch angrily. Eponine flopped helplessly against her seatbelt. Bahorel was yelling, but he wasn’t really sure of what he was saying, he just needed someone, anyone, to get Eponine to blink. 

He unbuckled her and turned around with her limp form, to see Bossuet, the first person who heard, there to help. Bahorel gave a hysterical laugh. Bossuet’s bad luck was not what he needed right now. 

“Oh god.” Bossuet was saying. Bahorel wasn’t really following most of his words, but those ones he got. “Oh god.” 

“Oh god.” Bahorel agreed. 

Joly was here, taking Eponine’s pulse. He started in on CPR. Bahorel sank to the ground. 

Someone was asking him a question. Bahorel looked up from where he was staring. He actually had been staring at Jehan’s scarf, still clutched in his hands for some reason. It was purple and sparkly. There was blood soaked through the fabric. 

“Bahorel.” Combeferre was talking to him. He had to listen. “Bahorel what happened?” 

“I… The saloon got ambushed.” He said, looking up at Combeferre’s face, but not really seeing it. He focused on the glint of the man’s glasses. “Feuilly… He held them off so I could bring Eponine back.” 

“NO!” A gut-wrenching scream came from somewhere to Bahorel’s left. He knew that sound. That was the sound that came out of his mouth not an hour before. “NO, NOT EPONINE!” 

“Get the kid out of here!” Enjolras was yelling, because of course Enjolras was yelling. When did he ever really stop? Bahorel reflected. Never. 

“You bring her back!” Gavroche was yelling, fighting against Courfeyrac, who was trying to keep him away from where Joly was working. “You can’t let her die!” 

“He’s working on it.” Marius said, quietly watching with wide eyes. Joly was sweating. Musichetta had taken over compressions and he was pumping oxygen into her lungs with a bag-valve mask. Eponine wasn’t responding. 

Cosette crumpled into Marius’s arms. She didn’t want to see her friend like this. He hugged her, silent. He didn’t either. 

Jehan and Grantaire were hanging back, trying to see if they could help, but not really knowing what to do. 

Five minutes of near silence, and Joly told Musichetta to stop. “I think she was gone for too long for us to bring her back.” He said, looking at the ground instead of at anyone else. 

There was a long moment of silence. 

“NO!” Gavroche screamed, not caring that he was repeating himself. “No, you guys PROMISED. You PROMISED we’d be safe with you!” 

“We… we _tried_.” Courfeyrac said, still holding the child, who collapsed in his arms, sobbing and whispering “You promised!”.

After that, there was a blur. Somehow, Bahorel ended up on a couch in Valjean’s place with a blanket around his shoulders. He was still holding Jehan’s scarf. 

He got up, the blanket slipping off his shoulders. Gavroche was on a bed, curled up and crying into Courfeyrac’s shirt. Jehan was sitting next to him, rubbing his back. He knelt by the bed. 

“Gav.” He said. When Gavroche looked up, all Bahorel could see was the little brat he and Feuilly fantasized about having. “Gav, I’ve got something. Your… your sister wanted you to know something.” 

Gavroche wiped at his eyes. “Yeah?” 

“She told me to tell you that you could have this.” He said, handing over the scarf. Jehan made a squeak of recognition, but made no move to take it. “She told me to tell you that she loved you and that you could be whatever you wanted to be, and to not take anyone’s shit.” He took a deep breath, trying to remember what else, “She told me to tell you to especially not take shit from your dad.” 

Gavroche nodded numbly and accepted the scarf. He buried his face in it and returned to Courfeyrac’s shirt. Bahorel turned to look at Jehan. He was silently sobbing. 

“She was my best friend.” He whispered. 

“Did she know that?” Courfeyrac asked. Jehan hit him. 

“Of course she did! We gave each other shit, but…” He swallowed hard, “And Feuilly… oh god, Bahorel I am so sorry.” 

“So am I.” Bahorel nodded. 

…

No one seemed to really be able to make the radio broadcast. That was, until they realized that Grantaire had regressed into a semi-numb, flashback state, and that he was the only one with a voice steady enough to talk through the staticky microphone. 

“Hey, guys.” Grantaire said, his voice void of emotion, “This is R and we have some sad news. Three of our bravest friends got ambushed in our old hideout and two of them never made it home. One sly little lady and our hardest working…. They…. we don’t have to protect their identities anymore, huh? It's not like they're on a mission.” He swallowed, “Eponine and Feuilly died today, and the world is worse for their passing.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. Feuilly never wrote him a script for this, “Now, we go to the traffic.” 

He put on a CD, sometimes what he did when there was no news, and turned off the microphone. 

…

Enjolras hadn’t come out of Valjean’s room (the only room with walls) since the ordeal. Valjean was out feeding orphans or whatever it was Valjean did when he disappeared, so there was no one to make him leave. No one else wanted to make him leave, either. This was how he dealt with things, they knew. When their numbers had been higher and dwindling fast, Enjolras had locked himself away a lot. 

Grantaire didn’t know that, and he had been insistent on going to see him, but everyone assured him it was a bad idea. Instead he hung out with Marius and Cosette. 

…

Musichetta was lying awake near Bahorel, having moved a small mattress closer to the man’s bed. He had gone to sleep early with her petting his hair. She didn’t know how she’d deal with it if either Bossuet or Joly had died. She swallowed hard, banishing the thought, and tried to sleep. 

An hour later, she was brought out of her half-sleep by noise from the bed next to her. She looked over in the low light, Bahorel was thrashing around his bed and making noises of protest. 

“Oh sweetie.” She said, getting up and trying to put her hand on his arm. He jerked away from her, lost in the nightmare. 

“No…” He was saying. Musichetta’s heart broke, “Feuilly, no.” 

“Bahorel.” She said, getting a firm grip on his arm and shaking it. “Bahorel wake up, you’re having a nightmare!” 

Jehan peeked around a curtain. She mouthed for him to go back to sleep. 

Bahorel jerked awake and looked around frantically. “Where’s Feuilly?” 

“I…” She didn’t know what to say. 

“Where is he?” The large man demanded, “I just had this… this _fucked up_ nightmare and… I need… Where is he?” 

“He’s not here, Bahorel… the nightmare…” She tried. His eyes widened. 

“No, NO! It was a nightmare! It was supposed to end when I woke up! It… it was supposed to be over…” He trailed off, looking at Feuilly’s vacant side of the bed. 

“I’m… I’m so sorry Bahorel.” Musichetta said, tears streaming down her face, “I’m…”

“I just don’t… I don’t want to be here if he’s not here with me.” Bahorel said. Musichetta wrapped her arms around him as he began to sob. 

“I know, baby. I know.” 

… 

In the middle of the night, his sister’s bloodstained scarf around his neck, Gavroche stole Courfeyrac’s gun and ran away.


	8. Party Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Amis are faced with the aftermath of Eponine and Feuilly's deaths.

Morning came and the Amis awoke, all feeling worse for wear. Courfeyrac had been up since dawn looking for Gavroche. He’d been called back by Marius, who was avoiding his feelings by working furiously on the TV. In his place, Jehan took his Baby to search, while Combeferre and Cosette took the other two cars. 

Musichetta was trying to comfort Bahorel, who hadn’t moved from his and Feuilly’s bed. He was huddled under the blankets, tightly holding onto Feuilly’s pillow. It still smelled like him. Musichetta couldn’t do much for him besides pat his back as he sobbed. 

Grantaire had been spending the whole morning disregarding everyone’s advice and trying to get Enjolras to come out of the room. Eventually, Grantaire gave up and just sat against the door, huddled up in a ball. Eponine was the only person he knew from before, at least the only one he remembered. How could she be gone? And Feuilly… he’d always seemed like such an impossible force to reckon with. It seemed like he was untouchable, immortal, and now he was just gone? How could he be dead? How were the Amis going to function without him?

Bossuet and Joly were behind the bunker digging a grave for Eponine’s body. Well, Bossuet was doing most of the work, but Joly was there for moral support. They finished around lunchtime, but it was customary to bury people at twilight, an old tradition from when the wastelands were overrun with rebels and Operatives alike, and the only safe time to bury your dead was twilight. 

At around noon, Musichetta was going to go on the radio to tell everyone to look out for Gavroche, when she heard an unnatural cry of victory from the other room. 

“I did it!” Marius yelled, “Someone, get Enjolras! I hacked into the mainframe for New Paris TV!” 

“Really?” Musichetta asked, pulling back the curtain. Marius was grinning at his computer. He nodded. Courfeyrac was sitting next to him, looking sad but victorious. 

“Oh my god, I have to announce it on the radio!” She said. Joly walked in with Bossuet, having finished digging the grave. “Boys, go tell Enjolras that the TV is up and running!” 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Joly asked. 

“Just go!” Courfeyrac said, knowing that the answer to Joly’s question was “no”. 

Bossuet ran over to Grantaire, where he was still sitting against Enjolras’s (er, Valjean’s) door. 

“Marius and Courf got the TV up and running!” Bossuet said excitedly. Grantaire looked up at him. Bossuet’s heart dropped, Grantaire was having a flashback. How long had he been like this? When was the last time someone checked up on him? He’d been outside the door since late last night. Bossuet’s stomach filled with guilt. “Grantaire?” 

Grantaire didn’t respond. 

“BOSSUET, HURRY!” Someone yelled from across the building. 

“R!” Bossuet tried. Nothing.”82473!” 

Grantaire looked up at him. 

“BOSSUET,WE DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS!” 

“Oh god, Grantaire please don’t kill me later.” Bossuet mumbled, “82473, move out of the way.” 

The haze cleared from Grantaire’s eyes just a little. “Bossuet?” He asked. 

“No.” Bossuet lied, feeling a little ill lying to him like that, “This is Dr. Cubac. You’re hallucinating, this is a test. You have to move.” 

Grantaire nodded, recognition leaving his eyes once more, and moved out of the way of the door. 

“Sorry.” Bossuet whispered, before knocking loudly on the door. 

“What?” Enjolras yelled, annoyed. 

“Marius got the TV running!” Bossuet called. The door swung open. Enjolras, his eyes red rimmed as though he’d been crying, stepped out. 

“Tell him to set it up.” He ordered, and Bossuet ran off. Enjolras grabbed his muffle mask and looked over at Grantaire. He’d take care of him in a few minutes, after the broadcast. 

…

“Okay, we’re on in three… two… one…” Courfeyrac counted. Enjolras stared at the camera. 

“Hello, citizens of New Paris and all you rebels watching at home in the wastelands. Sorry to interrupt your normal mindless drivel, but I’ve got an important message for you. You’ve been lied to. You’ve all been lied to, even you rebels. I’ve been telling you to rise up and do all you can do here in the wastelands, but what we really need to do is organize within the city and take them down from the inside.” Enjolras said, looking sternly at the camera, “We’ve got to be the disease that takes down the infested scum that is Tomorrow Comes.”

Enjolras glanced away from the camera, collecting his thoughts. “Tomorrow Comes really is the scum of the Earth. Just yesterday they took this whole… feud we’ve been having to another level. Before it was just hatred, but now… now it’s fucking personal.” 

Courfeyrac looked a little concerned from where he was standing, but he said nothing. “Your agents took the hardest working man on this planet, and a girl who was so devoted to giving her little brother a better life than she had, and you just killed them. They’re dead. Is that your so called ‘Rebel Rehabilitation’ program? Killing someone’s family?” 

Musichetta shot him a look. He ignored it. “Listen guys, you in New Paris and you in the wastelands. No one can save you but you. No one else. You have to choose to get up and leave the city, you have to choose to fight in the wastelands, you have to choose. No one is going to save your life, no one is going to change your meaningless existence if you don’t get up off your fucking couch and change yourself! Look inside and see who you are!” Enjolras was getting more enthusiastic, in the swing of his speech. Marius looked transfixed. Joly looked worried. 

“Become who you want to be! I’m tired of fucking hiding behind masks and you should be too!” In the heat of the moment the blond ripped off his mask, throwing it to the ground, “Rise up and show them who you really are!”

“Oh fuck!” Courfeyrac grabbed Enjolras’s face, covering it from the audience, “Fuck, cut the transmission, what were you thinking?” 

Courfeyrac’s hands were still covering Enjolras’s face, so he had a hard time responding. 

“I just don’t want to lie anymore,” Enjolras said, sounding exhausted. “I’m so tired of hiding, Courf. Sick and tired.” 

Courfeyrac’s anger receded. “That was a dumb thing to do.” 

“Yeah.” Enjolras said, “I’ve got to go get Grantaire.” 

…

Jehan and Combeferre were near murderous when they got home, having heard the audio of the TV broadcast over the radio. They were stopped in their path of destruction to go and kill Enjolras themselves by Courfeyrac. 

“I think… He’s not dealing with things well, guys.” Courfeyrac said. It was weird, generally either of these men were trying to calm him down, not the other way around. 

“None of us are dealing with things well.” Jehan snapped back. 

“I know, but…” Courfeyrac glanced towards the curtain that Grantaire and Enjolras were behind somewhere, Enjolras trying to snap Grantaire out of his flashback. “He’s got more to deal with than us, even now. He’s lost those two, but then he’s going to lose the cause and all his friends. He’s going to lose R, even though he only found him.”

Combeferre and Jehan fell silent. Courfeyrac continued. 

“So he’s not just losing one person, like we are. He’s losing _everything_.”

“Fine.” Combeferre said, “But I’m going to have a talk with him after Eponine’s funeral.” 

…

Eponine’s funeral was a small affair. Grantaire, Marius, and Musichetta lowered her into the grave Bossuet and Joly had dug earlier that morning. In her hands, there was one of the fans Feuilly had brought with him from the city, and the man’s backup mask-a pair of goggles. Cosette covered her in one of Jehan’s party capes.

They didn’t speak. No one spoke at funerals. A car pulled up and Thenardier and his wife came out, with Azelma, the little sister Eponine rarely spoke about. 

“Did the Ops do this?” Thenardier asked, breaking the silence. Bahorel nodded.

The rest of the funeral passed peacefully. The Thenardiers got into their car and left silently. 

No one really spoke for the rest of the night. Grantaire stepped out around midnight to get some air, and to get away from Marius and Cosette, who were really bad about sharing the bed. He saw a small figure standing over the grave. When he spotted Grantaire, the figure, Gavroche, ran to a car, which sped off. 

Grantaire didn’t try to chase him down. He walked to the grave and looked to see what was there. Gavroche had left his mask, an obnoxiously smiling face, on the grave. 

…

Enjolras’s anger was back the next day. He brushed off Combeferre’s lecture and elected to go out and assassinate all the Operatives he could find. His friends warned him not to do this, not to run himself ragged like he had before, the pills weren’t going to last forever. Enjolras refused to listen. 

Valjean even tried to stop him, but the man had some kind of business to attend to out in the desert (Grantaire had a suspicion that it had something to do with cleaning up after Enjolras, but who knows?) so he wasn’t around to lecture the blond. 

Eventually, Combeferre hid Enjolras’s guns. It didn’t matter. He made himself bombs. And he invited Bahorel to help him throw them. Bahorel accepted graciously. 

Enjolras avoided Grantaire with a passion. He knew, he _knew_ that he should be spending time with his boyfriend, spending their small remaining time together. But he was just so angry. He just needed to destroy something. 

By the end of the month, there was a huge hit on Enjolras, the price on his head would have set up anyone to have a luxurious life. Everyone in the wastelands was looking for him, but he refused to care. 

Tomorrow Comes sent out a warning, they were going to bomb the wastelands. There was a set date, something Marius was trying to find out by hacking into their information system, and they were going to evacuate all the real citizens and just kill everyone in the wastelands. Apparently Enjolras had made himself too much of a nuisance. 

…

Eventually, Grantaire just waited for Enjolras to come home. He had to restock sometime, and Grantaire was going to be awake when it happened. He’d tried this before, but with little success, as Bahorel was on Enjolras’s side and Grantaire felt a mixture of “I don’t want to upset Bahorel” and “I don’t want to get punched”. 

But Bahorel was actually doing better lately. It had only been a month, not nearly long enough for him to be any semblance of “okay”. But the man was doing better, and Grantaire was fully prepared to use this to his advantage. 

“Enjolras, can I talk to you?” Grantaire asked, when Enjolras snuck into the bunker. 

“Uh, actually, Bahorel and I were doing a thing, so…” Enjolras said, looking for the giant. Grantaire had gotten the man alone earlier though and made him promise to give him a private moment with Enjolras. 

“Well, Bahorel is obviously in the bathroom or something.” Grantaire said, crossing his arms, “So it looks like you have a moment to talk to me.”

“Grantaire…” Enjolras began, but he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Enj. Have you realized how selfish you’re being?” Grantaire asked, his eyes flashing with accusation. Enjolras almost winced. “You’re fueling Bahorel’s grief so he can be some kind of bodyguard for your insane suicide quest?” 

“Uh…” Enjolras hadn’t thought of it that way, but he supposed it could be taken like that. 

“And you just leave me out of it?” 

“What?” Now Enjolras was confused. 

“I mean, I never wanted you to go and fucking ruin everything, killing random people who are no threat to you and just _doing their jobs_ , but I would have gone with you. I would follow you to the ends of the earth, if I just got more time by your side.” Grantaire confessed. 

Now Enjolras really felt like shit, “No, Grantaire…” 

“No? You’ve been avoiding me for a month! My only friend who I can remember before Bossuet _died_ and you just _left_. What did I do?” Grantaire pleaded for an answer with his eyes. 

“No, no, you didn’t do anything!” Enjolras said, taking his boyfriend’s hands. Grantaire let him. “I just… I didn’t want you to worry about me. I didn’t want you to tell me to stop.” 

“Well,” Grantaire said, “This is me telling you to stop. Because otherwise I’m going out there with you.” 

Enjolras shook his head, “R, no, you can’t. It’s too dangerous.”

“And you’re willing to subject Bahorel to that?” 

“No! It’s just… he has more experience.” Enjolras finished lamely. Grantaire nodded. 

“If you don’t stop and you don’t let me come with you, I’ll leave.” Grantaire said at length. 

“You’ll leave me?” Enjolras asked, the prospect making his heart hurt, “You don’t love me?” 

“Of course I love you. But I can’t take this, Enj. It was bad enough to watch you waste away, but now? You won’t even look at me!” 

Enjolras realized Grantaire was right. He’d hardly spoken to his boyfriend in a month. 

“If… If you leave, you won’t be as hurt when I die.” Enjolras reasoned, half to himself and half to Grantaire. 

“I don’t think you understand.” R said, taking his hands from Enjolras’s grip, “I’d leave the Amis. I couldn’t sit here after breaking up with you and just watch you die anyways.”

“No!” Enjolras pleaded, “No, you can’t go into the wastelands alone! They all hate the Amis now, they want me dead for the money, they’ll kill you to get to me!” 

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Grantaire said, “So is this you telling me you won’t stop?” 

“No! No, I’ll stop, I swear R, I’ll stop.” Enjolras launched at his boyfriend, pulling him into a hug. “God, I’ve missed you. I don’t know why I ever did something this stupid.” 

“I missed you too.” Grantaire said, burying his face in Enjolras’s hair, “God, I missed you so much.” 

“I just… I miss him so much, you know? I don’t know if I can be a leader without him, and Bahorel is so _sad_ all the time.” Enjolras sobbed, tears flowing for the first time since the funeral. It felt good. “And we can’t find Gavroche and if I wasn’t sick they wouldn’t have been getting parts for Courf and none of this would have happened… and… and…” 

“It’s okay.” Grantaire lied, stroking the revolutionary’s back, “It’s okay. I’ve got you now, everything is going to be alright.”


	9. Save Yourself, I'll Hold Them Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras is running out of pills, but Grantaire thinks he might know of a possible cure.

Enjolras returned to a semi-normal state the next morning. He’d spent all night crying against Grantaire and then, drained, slept like the dead. Apparently Bahorel had done something similar with Musichetta, and now they were feeling at least a little better. 

When Enjolras awoke, breakfast was somber, but not as bad as he thought it was. A month had passed, after all, and the Amis were moving on. 

“We’ve got to warn the people out here that the bomb’s coming.” Enjolras said, interrupting the casual conversation. All eyes turned to him, but he was looking more at his food than at any of their faces. “It’s my fault, so I’ve got to organize a way to keep everyone safe.” 

“It wasn’t entirely your fault.” Courfeyrac said, drawing Enjolras’s attention, “I mean, Marius and I do deserve some credit for _that_ particular fuck up.” 

Marius nodded in agreement. Enjolras shook his head and sighed, but didn’t protest.

“We’ve got to make a plan.” He said instead, and doing so occupied all of his and the Amis time for the next few hours. 

…

Valjean came home around lunch time. He went straight to Enjolras, the leader was expecting a reprimand, but the older man just pulled him into a hug. 

“Uh… hi?” Enjolras asked, confused about all this. Valjean patted his back. 

“Son, I know you and I never talked too much, but I know how hard it is to lose someone so vital to your cause and your personal happiness.” Valjean said comfortingly, “I apologize for not being around to help.”

Damn, Enjolras thought he’d cried all the tears he’d had last night, but apparently not. He sniffled, trying to not let them fall on the man’s shirt. Valjean always seemed to keep so clean and orderly, he didn’t want to get snot all over his sleeve. 

“Thanks.” He said thickly, not trusting his voice not to shake if he said more. 

“And if you leave your friends and your boyfriend like that again, I’m going to hunt you down and tie you to a chair so you cannot escape.” Valjean threatened, making Enjolras laugh. 

“Please do.” 

“Alright,” Valjean said, pulling back. He pretended not to notice while Enjolras wiped his eyes. “Now, Cosette told me that you’re trying to keep refugees safe.” 

“Yeah, there’s a bomb.” Enjolras supplied, “We need to keep the rebels safe, everyone who’s not a legal citizen is going to be killed.” 

“Well, you know, I do know a good-sized bomb shelter close to us.” The older man said. 

“You do?” 

“Yeah, about a mile east there’s one. It’s a mess, full of mold, but if your friends help me clean it out we can use it. There should be some in other areas around the wastelands, we can send a couple of people to search them out and ask around to see if anyone’s willing to share theirs with people in need.” Valjean supplied. Enjolras could have hugged him again.

“Thank you, sir.” Enjolras said. This was more than he could have hoped for. 

“Don’t worry about it, son.” 

…

A few hours had passed and Enjolras had organized a search party and broadcast on the radio, informing people about what was going to happen. 

Afterwards he noticed that it was time to take his medication. He grabbed the pill bottle and looked at it a long moment. He hadn’t been keeping track of his pills, he’d just been taking them. He hadn’t noticed how few he had left. He had three. 

Enjolras paled a bit. Even though he knew that the pills had done nothing but extend his life a while longer but he’d almost felt like he really had a fighting chance at beating the disease. Seeing the last three pills at the bottom of the bottle brought him back to reality. He wasn’t ready to die.

“Hey Apollo,” Grantaire came up from behind him, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek and resting his hands on Enjolras’ hips. “What’s up?” He looked down over Enjolras’ shoulder to the pill bottle in his hands. When he saw how the supply had dwindled his heart sank a little, “Oh.”

“It’s alright,” Enjolras let out a soft laugh, “It was bound to happen anyways.” He turned around and laced his fingers through Grantaire’s.

“Yeah…” Grantaire sighed. He squeezed the revolutionary’s hand. There had to be something he could do. “You know…”

“Yeah?” Enjolras asked, looking up at his boyfriend, who seemed to be battling emotions, as his face was blank. He never mentioned, but seeing Grantaire like that sometimes freaked him out.

“It’s nothing, never mind.” The cynic said, chickening out. He could never ask Enjolras to do what he wanted him to do, there was no way, it went against everything the man believed. 

“Now you have to tell me.” Enjolras said, smiling. Grantaire pulled him into a hug, burying his face in the man’s hair. “Come on, R.”

Grantaire sighed, he couldn’t resist Enjolras, especially not now. “It’s a dumb idea.” 

“You say that like I don’t pull dumb shit all the time.” The blond countered. 

“Yeah, but when you do it, it’s all cool and revolutionary teen angst and, like, kind of hot. When I do dumb shit I end up with a broken nose.”

“Are you still upset about that? I apologized.”

“No.” Grantaire admitted. He had just been stalling. 

“So what was your dumb idea?” Enjolras persisted. 

“It’s dumb.” Grantaire warned. 

“So I’ve been told.”

The artist steeled himself for the negative reaction sure to come after. “So, you know how Tomorrow Comes is like the spawn of satan and all?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Well, one of their perks is their medical system, like you know that their citizens that get dust in their lungs get better overnight, right? They don’t have a long rehabilitation process.” 

“How do you know that?” Enjolras asked, ignoring where he knew the conversation was going. 

 

“Eponine. She had it when she came to the city, but she got cured before she met me. I only remembered her telling me that a little while ago. Figure she didn’t want to tell you so that you didn’t do something stupid like go to the city.” Grantaire explained. 

“So you don’t want me to go to the city?” 

“I don’t.” Grantaire confirmed, nodding, “But if you do, you can get better.”

“How would we even get there without being noticed or killed? And then how would we make a doctor administer treatment? I mean, I suppose we could have Combeferre figure it out…” Enjolras speculated, but Grantaire was already shaking his head. 

“No, my plan was much worse than that.” He said. 

“What was your plan?”

“Get you captured.” 

“You want to get me captured? ...Why?” Enjolras raised a brow, completely lost.

“Well, Tomorrow Comes even cures their prisoners since it’s basically against policy to have anybody sick within the city. Anyways, I guess they also probably want you in peak condition for their brainwashing, they’re cruel like that.” Grantaire looked nervously at his boyfriend who seemed to be considering the absolutely batshit plan. “But, I don’t know. Maybe this isn’t a good idea.” Then again…

“That’s insane… it’ll never work.” Enjolras said firmly, despite the fact that his expression was anything but. “I can’t just leave before the bombing anyhow. I have to help these people get to safety.”

Hearing Enjolras reject the plan only made Grantaire want to keep him alive even more, “We could break you out though… after the bomb. It’d be easy enough. I know you don’t want to abandon these people but the Amis can handle it. You aren’t going to be any help to anyone dead.” Grantaire finally spit it out. Enjolras looked up at the brunette, seeming surprised. They normally danced around and avoided the term “death” in it’s many forms. But Grantaire was right. He wouldn’t be any help dead. He wanted to continue to help.

“...Alright. How do we go about this?” He crossed his arms. 

…

“So,” Jehan said the next day, sitting down across from Grantaire, who was sitting and doodling Enjolras’s name with hearts around it in one of the notebooks he’d been drawing in. He snapped it shut as soon as Jehan sat down. God, Marius was rubbing off on him. 

“So?” He asked, ignoring Jehan’s longing stare at his notebook. 

“So,” Jehan reiterated, “You’ve gotta tell your boyfriend something for me, doll.” 

“What?” 

“Now don’t freak out, but you know that guy that Valjean is like deathly afraid of and all?” 

“Yeah, Javert?” Grantaire asked, raising an eyebrow and slipping the notebook under the table so Jehan would stop looking at it. 

“Yeah, well… he’s after Enjolras. Marius found out this morning.” Jehan said, “Parnasse told him.” 

“Why was Montparnasse talking to Marius?” 

“Unimportant. So be a babe and tell your boyfriend for us, won’t you? He’ll probably be upset and I don’t think Courfeyrac’s poor little heart can stand him being a stubborn idiot about something like this again.” Jehan said, getting up. 

…

“I heard that Javert is after you.” Valjean said, making Enjolras jump. He’d been making an attempt at writing a letter to his friends for after he was gone, an endeavor he’d been on since he’d been trapped in the hospital bed, but he could never get further than the part meant for Combeferre and Courfeyrac. 

“Yeah, Grantaire told me a while ago.” Enjolras said. It had prompted Enjolras asking for a little alone time and the letter, while Grantaire went to perfect his plan. 

Valjean pulled Enjolras into another hug, the second in the past two days, and patted him on the back. Enjolras had to remind himself not to make this awkward. 

“You shouldn’t take this lightly, it’s a very serious matter.” Valjean said, putting his hands on Enjolras’s shoulders, “This man will chase you to the edges of the wastelands, and in your condition you’ll be a very easy target.” 

“I know.” Enjolras sighed. He hadn’t exactly agreed to Grantaire’s plan yet, but he was listening. This new turn of events only persuaded him to listen harder. 

“After the bombs you should figure out a plan to head to the outskirts of the explored desert.” Valjean suggested. Enjolras nodded, “You won’t have much other choice. Javert knows this area rather well, he only stopped searching for me because he assumes me dead.” 

“Great. Well, at least I won’t have to fake my death.” Enjolras said sarcastically, “I’ll be doing the real thing.” 

Valjean fixed him with a stern look. “That’s no attitude to have, young man.” 

“It’s true.” Enjolras said bitterly, “I won’t last more than three months”

“I’m sure if anyone can give you more time, it’s your friends.” Valjean assured him, patting him on the back one more time. 

…

Another day passed, Enjolras finally sat down and wrote his letters. He was certain that Courfeyrac would be insulted at the brevity of his, but Courfeyrac wouldn’t be satisfied with a novel, so this was all Enjolras could offer him. 

He kept them in his notebook under his pillow. He figured that no one was going to go through his sheets, at least not until after he was dead. 

He had one pill left. 

“Grantaire.” He called, and the man peeked through the curtains that separated their rooms. 

“Yeah babe?”

“So, how is this plan supposed to work?” 

Grantaire internally sighed in relief. He hadn’t shown it, but he was afraid that Enjolras was just humoring him, listening to his plan. He knew that it was dangerous to go into the city, but he could be selfish this once, when it came to Enjolras. Put his health above everything else. 

“Okay, so I was thinking we’d go on an easy mission.” Grantaire started, “Maybe to the junkyard?” 

“That sounds good.” Enjolras said, though he shuddered to think about how upset Courfeyrac was going to be with him. “What else?” 

“We’ll take Courf’s car, since that one’s the fastest. Then I can get away so we can get you rescued.” Grantaire said. Enjolras nodded. 

“Are you going to tell the others?” He asked. 

“Are you kidding?” The artist asked, “No, they’d be so mad.” 

“Well, Courf is going to be upset anyways.” 

“Courf is always upset.” Grantaire said, “It’s like a lifestyle choice.” 

“Are you even sure the medication will work?” Enjolras asked, “Scale of one to ten, how sure are you?” 

“Like, 12. I’m serious, Enj, on these meds you can live forever!” 

“Forever?” 

“I mean, if you’ve got the time.” Grantaire said, grinning. He was winning the other man over. 

“Alright. So let's say I agree.” Enjolras said. Grantaire grinned wider, “How are you going to get me out?” 

“That’s the brilliant part. The rest of the Amis are going to think you’ve been kidnapped, so they’ll help get you out. If they could get Bossuet out with his shitty luck, they can get you out too.” Enjolras had never seen Grantaire look more optimistic. “Plus Ferre has already made that resistance drug, I mean it’s still in animal testing, but you’ll still be yourself in there.” 

“When do you want to do this?” Enjolras asked. 

“Well.” Grantaire said, casting a significant look to the pill bottle containing one, lonesome pill that was sitting by Enjolras’s bedside, “The sooner the better.” 

…

Grantaire had gotten the keys to Courfeyrac’s Baby from Jehan, saying that they just wanted to go to the junkyard on an easy mission, Enjolras wanted to feel like he was doing something and he wanted to thank Courfeyrac for being so patient with him.

Jehan suspected something was up, but he figured they just wanted to go have sex in the back of the nicest car, since it would be kind of awkward in Valjean’s crowded house. 

They got to the junkyard without incident, and Grantaire was sure they could have stolen whatever they wanted without any problems, but that wasn’t the point of this mission. 

They grabbed a couple of parts for Courfeyrac, they didn’t want to send Grantaire home empty handed, and they stalled by the car for a moment. 

“This is it.” Grantaire said, taking the revolutionary’s hand, “You ready?” 

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Enjolras replied, “You’ve got to make it look like you tried, the Amis and the Patron Minette have cameras set up around here, they’ll know if we’re faking.” 

Grantaire nodded. The gravity of the situation settled over them and he squeezed his boyfriend’s hand tighter, like he didn’t actually want to let go. 

“You know I love you, right?” He asked, his voice shaking ever so slightly. Nerves, he told himself. 

“Yeah.” Enjolras replied, “I love you too.” 

Enjolras pretended to send Grantaire away after something and pulled out his gun, shooting a car and setting off the car alarm. Operatives swarmed the scene. Yards away, behind stacks of cars, Grantaire jumped at the noise and ran towards it. He was no longer thinking of making it look convincing, adrenaline had taken over his brain and all he wanted to do was grab Enjolras and get the fuck out of there. 

But the plan worked almost too well. Enjolras, not fighting, had been peacefully taken by the Operatives. They tried to get Grantaire, but he ran to the car, looking back one last time at his beloved. 

“See you when we get you home!” Grantaire yelled, trying to quell his doubts and calm Enjolras at the same time. 

“Go!” The blond called. Grantaire got in the car and drove away. 

…

Grantaire arrived back at Valjean’s with a properly haunted look in his eyes. He’d spent the drive worrying about all the ways this could go wrong. 

“Grantaire!” Jehan was running out of the base. “What happened?” Courfeyrac was fast on his heels and the other Amis started to come out as well. 

Grantaire thought back to when Bahorel had brought Eponine back and sank to the ground, mimicking his expression. He wanted to keep his face carefully blank, like he would in this situation normally, but Bahorel had looked like he’d seen all the horrors of hell and then some, and Grantaire wasn’t sure he could replicate that on his face, but he’d try. 

Courfeyrac seemed speechless for once, staring at Grantaire and then back at his car, his mouth open as if he wanted to speak, but there were no words for the situation. 

What Courfeyrac lacked in words, Combeferre made up for, running out to the car and skidding to a stop in front of Grantaire. 

“Where is he?” He demanded. Grantaire looked back at him with half dead eyes, thinking about faking a flashback. Too dramatic. Instead, he shrugged. Combeferre grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him a little. Grantaire’s heart pitched a little in fear, this might send him into a for real flashback if he wasn’t careful. 

“God damn it, Grantaire!” Combeferre yelled, shaking him a little more, “Why didn’t you go after him? Why didn’t you try to stop him?” 

They must have seen the video, Grantaire figured. 

“I tried.” Grantaire said weakly, looking down at his hands, “There… there were just so many of them…” 

“You should have fought them!” 

“He didn’t want to be saved.” Grantaire said. And it was true enough. Combeferre looked murderous and Grantaire was starting to rethink the whole keeping-this-a-secret thing, when Bahorel picked the man up off of the cynic. 

“You okay, R?” The giant asked. Grantaire nodded, but he felt sick, lying to Bahorel like this. Pretending to share the same kind of grief. “Let’s go inside.” 

“Why were you even at the junkyard?” Courfeyrac asked as Musichetta helped Grantaire to his feet. 

“Enj… He wanted to get some… some spare parts.” The ‘for you’ was implied, and Courfeyrac seemed to hear it, kicking the wheel of his car, something Grantaire had never seen him do. 

“God _damn_ him!” Courfeyrac yelled, kicking at the car some more. He sounded close to tears. Grantaire didn’t want to see this, he didn’t want to think about how this was probably the way that things were going to end anyways. Maybe this was the reason Enjolras didn’t want to do this, he wanted to save his friends from this devastation as long as he could. 

They got inside and sat on beds and couches together, sometimes talking, but mostly silent. 

“Do you think this was a suicide mission?” Marius asked the group at large eventually. 

“Of course we do!” Jehan snapped, petting Courfeyrac’s hair, as his sobs had increased at the word “suicide”. “What else would it have been?”

…

Enjolras felt uncomfortable as he walked into the oddly white and colorless facility for the first time, two Operatives holding him by the arms on either side of him. It was the first time he’d actually seen one first hand, most of his work as a vigilante was out in the wastelands. The place was so eerily quiet and devoid of hope. He shuddered as he was shoved into a room by the two men, the door slamming behind him. Inside the room sat a man at a desk, going through papers. When Enjolras entered, a cruel grin spread across his face.

“If it isn’t Apollo himself.” Dr. Cubac crossed his arms, looking at the defenseless handcuffed revolutionary. He looked much scrawnier… more depressing- pathetic- pathetic was the word. He looked much more pathetic than he’d imagined. “I heard you submitted to the Operatives without so much as a fight. That’s very unlike you.”

“I’m tired of fighting. I give up.” Enjolras said bitterly. He was tired of fighting, this much was true, but he would never give up. 

The doctor scoffed, “As if I’d believe that. Why are you really here, Enjolras? You’re a very dangerous, very wanted man. You wouldn’t have handed yourself over like a gift if you wouldn’t reap some real benefit from this.”

“Dust.” Enjolras hadn’t given the doctor enough credit for his intelligence. He’d hoped he’d be as brainless as the Ops. Lying would do him no good. “I have dust in my lungs, I’m dying.”

“And you heard about our little cure, I assume?” The doctor rested his chin on the back of his hands, smirking over a pair of small wire framed spectacles. 

“I did.” He nodded.

“Good. We’ll fix you right up then.” The doctor grinned, getting up from behind his desk. “I have just the treatment plan in mind.”

Enjolras had expected cruelty on the part of Tomorrow Comes. He wasn’t sure if Grantaire had, but he had. What he didn’t expect was the humiliation and degradation. You could torture a man, but stripping away his pride as well? It made Enjolras loathe them all the more. He was forced to shower before a group of shady looking individuals in suits, all gossiping about him and his capture as if he wasn’t there yet analyzing him as if they were standing right in front of him, giving him a physical. The physical went very much the same way and the doctor was less than gentle with everything from getting his measurements to drawing blood. Finally he was given some monochromatic clothes, much like the ones Grantaire had come in, and was pushed along to another room in the never ending assembly line of them. This time it was a cell. The heavy door shut behind him and wasn’t opened again for another hour when a particularly smug looking Dr. Cubac and two operatives walked in. 

“I see they let you keep your pretty gold hair. They must want you looking nice for your final televised appearance.”

Enjolras crinkled his nose in disgust and confusion, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Your public execution.” Dr. Cubac replied, snapping his fingers. The Operatives grabbed Enjolras by his arms, prompting him to struggle for the first time since he’d gotten there.

“What?! You said you were going to cure me!” What the hell was he talking about? Tomorrow Comes never did this sort of thing…

“We will, as an act of compassion and a show of just how humane we are here at Tomorrow Comes. Even treating our most wanteds with the same care as a true citizen of New Paris.” Dr. Cubac chuckled cruelly as Enjolras was dragged down the hall into an exam room. He was strapped to a metal slab that looked less like an operating table and more like a torture device. The coldness of the metal was stabbing, even through his clothes.

“First a little of this.” The man held up a syringe. “Then reconditioning.” 

The needle scared Enjolras more than the thought of reconditioning. He was confident in the ability of his friend’s drug to combat the effects of the process. It’d be painless. The medicine was not, however. Enjolras screamed and tried to thrash around as a pain he could only equate to fire shooting up through every one of his veins sliced through his body. It hurt- oh god it was worse than anything he’d ever felt- or could have imagined… And Dr. Cubac only smiled back at him as he convulsed against the table.

…

Later, in the middle of the night, Grantaire was awakened by the sound of Enjolras’s room being torn apart. He peeked through the curtain and saw Courfeyrac throwing things around, looking for something. 

“Hey.” Grantaire said, getting out of bed and walking over to the man, “What are you doing?” 

Courfeyrac glared up at him, but his gaze softened after a moment. “Looking.” 

“For what?” Grantaire asked, sinking down beside him to look through the pages that Courfeyrac had been frantically reading. 

“Anything. Something to tell me why. I need to tell Combeferre why… why Enjolras… You didn’t see him… after you went to your room he was a mess.” Courfeyrac said, his mouth quivering as if he was going to cry again. 

“I’ll help.” Grantaire offered. 

“You don’t have to.” 

“I want to,” Grantaire let a little desperation slip into his voice. Courfeyrac nodded and they continued his search together. 

Ten minutes later, Grantaire found the notebook, hidden inside the pillowcase on the bed. The artist looked at it, turning it over in his hands before he opened it. At first, it seemed like a normal notebook, writings about the radio show and half baked plans for his speech on TV littered the pages. However, a few more pages in and there were large chunks of ripped out pages and eventually, letters with each of their names at the top. 

“Courf.” He said, his voice hoarse. Courfeyrac looked up, eyes red rimmed, and Grantaire reread the first page before the letters. There were instructions for whoever found the notebook (Enjolras assumed Combeferre was going to be the one to find it, but still). They said that he was to rip out the pages and deliver them to the people they are addressed to specifically, and not to read them. Grantaire was more than happy to comply. 

He ripped out the page with Courfeyrac’s name on it and handed it to the man, watching him read instead of looking for his own letter. He was afraid of what he’d find. 

Courfeyrac was all out sobbing by the end of the letter and he threw his arms around Grantaire, needing the comfort of another human. Grantaire hugged him back, his heart hurting. Why would Enjolras write these?

After a long moment of Courfeyrac sobbing on his shoulder. the man peeled himself off the cynic, wiping his eyes and sniffling. 

“Do you think I should wake them up?” Grantaire asked, everyone else would want their letters. Courfeyrac shook his head. 

“Combeferre just fell asleep, and I’m sure it won’t last. They should get as much rest as they can.” 

Grantaire nodded. This could wait for morning. 

… 

Enjolras shuddered. He’d thought that he’d be allowed to have a night’s rest at some time during this torture, but he was sadly mistaken. Dr. Cubac was trying to figure out what was making him so resistant, shooting something that felt like fire into his veins. 

“You may say that I’m being inhumane.” Dr. Cubac commented as Enjolras writhed in pain against restraints that held him down. “But you’ll be dead before the week is out, so does it really matter?” 

Enjolras didn’t really comprehend the question, too lost in the pain. “R…” He whimpered, sure that the man could hear him. He needed to get out of here, Grantaire needed to get him out of here. 

“R? Hmm… interesting. I’d assumed him dead.” The doctor commented. Enjolras paid no attention. 

… 

The next morning, after a sleepless night, Grantaire brought out the letters to the other Amis. He was pretty sure Courfeyrac had read his own so many times that he could recite it by heart if he wanted to, but for now he didn’t feel like sharing. Grantaire had wanted to look through the letters for his own, but he hadn’t trusted himself not to read the others, and he was going to prove it that he could follow these instructions for once. 

The next person in the notebook was Jehan. Grantaire wanted to turn and leave after the letter was delivered, to move onto the next person, but Jehan trapped him in a surprisingly hard to escape hug after reading the first line. 

Grantaire disentangled himself from Jehan and moved on to the next person, Bahorel. He’d been avoiding the man all day, since he felt really guilty after everything, but the man just took his letter and gave Grantaire his space, thinking he wanted to be alone. Grantaire could not have been more grateful. 

Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta’s letters were in succession and they could always be found in the same place, so Grantaire gave them their letters next, slipping away before they could try to talk to him. Marius and Cosette were next, Marius’s much longer than his girlfriend’s, but she seemed just as satisfied with hers. 

There were letters for Gavroche and Valjean before the letters for Combeferre and Grantaire, something that made the artist mildly offended somewhere in the back of his mind. As both of them were out, Gavroche doing whatever it was he was doing and Valjean trying to find bomb shelters, Grantaire set their letters aside and ripped out Combeferre’s. 

He’d been dreading talking to Combeferre, knowing that if the man snapped again it would probably send Grantaire into a flashback, something he could not afford right now. But, the man had to be on to what was happening by now, and he would be awaiting his letter like everyone else. Grantaire swallowed hard and ventured into what served as Combeferre’s lab. 

Combeferre was hunched over a table, not moving much. Grantaire cleared his throat. The other man stood up straighter, turning slightly to see who was behind him. 

“Oh.” Combeferre said, looking back at the table as if Grantaire wasn’t worth his time, “It’s you.” 

“Yeah.” Grantaire agreed. 

“What do you want?” He asked. It occurred to Grantaire that the man probably wasn’t turning around because he was crying. He really didn’t want to make him turn around. 

“I… uh… I have something for you. From him. Um… Courf and I found it last night and yours was the last letter, aside from mine.” Grantaire said, walking forward and placing the letter on the desk beside the other man so that he wouldn’t be forced to look at him. The cynic turned to go. 

“Wait.” Combeferre said. Grantaire waited and listened to the silence and Combeferre’s ragged breathing as the other man read his letter. “What… what did your letter say?” He asked at length. 

Grantaire shrugged, then realized the other man couldn’t see the action. “I don’t know.” He said. Combeferre nodded. Grantaire turned to go, thinking he was dismissed, when Combeferre finally turned around. 

He looked like a mess. The scientist was usually the most put together person they knew, aside from Valjean, and he was definitely the most rested, but his eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed from crying, his face twisted into an ugly frown. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, probably to keep them from getting salt stains. Grantaire swallowed hard, he didn’t want to see Combeferre like this, he didn’t want to see any of his friends like this. He’d seen enough when Feuilly and Eponine died, why did it have to repeat again?

“I’m sorry.” Combeferre said, his voice rougher than before, “For what I said before. And for… for your loss.” 

Guilt weighed down on Grantaire like a brick in the pit of his stomach, he nodded his thanks and headed back to his room. 

His letter was the last one left. He sat on his bed and looked at the notebook for a long moment before flipping to the page with a large, swooping R at the top, like his signature on the buildings in New Paris all those years ago. 

_R,  
I’ve saved the best and worst for last. I never knew what to say to you when I was alive, and it seems that now in death I’m facing the same challenge. You’re just so frustrating, why can I never think of the right things to say? _

_I can’t believe that after all this time I finally found you. I know that technically Bossuet found you, but still. I’ve been holding out hope for so long, and although you told me that you’d never be R (and in truth I want you, Grantaire, more than I ever wanted R) I had wished that you’d remember me as I was, remember yourself as you were. There wasn’t much good in the city, but you were the best of it._

_When you came to the desert I was pretty sure I’d kill you before you had the chance to remember anything, you were so infuriating. And you always took Marius’s side, you know how ignorant he can be. I was jealous that you remembered Eponine before me, how dare she take that from me? But now I’m glad, because I got to know you all over again._

_I kept that first drawing you made for us. You might not remember, you were pretty out of it, but when you got back from the Tomorrow Comes facility you drew the picture you’d painted for me, two stories high in bright colors. The drawing seems so much better, in the wierdest way. It seems less larger-than-life, more your style. I carry it around with me everywhere, a reminder that even if you don’t remember me, you remember me. _

_I don’t have much more time, but I just wanted you to know that I love you and I’ve always loved you, R, Grantaire._

_Apollo_

Grantaire read the letter twice before the meaning set in. Did Enjolras actually do this as a suicide mission? Was that his real intent? Did he just go along with Grantaire’s plan to humor him? Tears fell on the page and the artist put it down to save it from being ruined. If this really was his last thing to remember Enjolras by, he didn’t want to fuck it up this quickly. 

… 

Enjolras was at his wit’s end as watched his friends die before him again and again. The hallucinations were so vivid and lifelike it broke him inside. Dr. Cubac was taking great joy in torturing the blond and watching him beg for his friend’s lives and try to save them over and over. It was a hopeless pursuit and both of them knew it. Finally Enjolras slowly came back to reality, his cheeks flush as tears streamed down his cheeks. Oh god. He hoped they’d come for him soon. He couldn’t watch that again. He couldn’t handle it.

“It’s not real…” He muttered, running his hands through his hair shakily. “It’s not…” He repeated.

“If it’s not real why do you keep trying to save them? It’s hopeless.” Dr. Cubac scoffed, “Is this the passionate resistance Tomorrow Comes has been so worried about? I don’t see a threat. I see a pathetic mess of a man bogged down with unnecessary emotions and feelings.”

Enjolras shakily glanced up at him, eyes glassy. He didn’t have anything to say to Dr. Cubac. The reconditioning had already failed so rather than put him out of his misery on the spot the doctor had resorted to crueler tactics. He needed out now, before he lost himself in the process.

…

That evening, Marius shook everyone out of their grief with an announcement. 

“Guys!” He yelled, running into the dining room where most of the Amis were picking at their food in in near silence, “Guys, Enjolras is alive!” 

“What?” Courfeyrac asked, looking up. 

“They’re going to publicly execute him in three days and they’re going to set off the bombs tomorrow.” Marius continued. It was like a smaller, more vocal bomb went off in the dining area, everyone talking over each other. 

“We’ve got to save him.” Grantaire said after a few moments of the noise, “We can’t leave him there.” 

“We have to wait until after the bombs.” Joly reasoned. “There’s no way we can get him and save ourselves if we go in tonight without a plan.”

“We can’t leave him.” Grantaire reiterated. Combeferre nodded, not on the side of reason for once. 

“We’ve got to save as many other people as possible.” Bossuet said, “It’s what he would have wanted.” 

Grantaire grit his teeth. If it was anyone but Bossuet who said that, as though Enjolras were dead and they were honoring his memory, he’d have probably punched them. 

“I won’t forgive myself if we don’t get him before the bombs, what if we get trapped and can’t go get him? What if we lose our chance?” Grantaire asked frantically, but Musichetta was talking over him, telling the others what to do to round up people telling Cosette to radio her father to bring him home so he could help. Jehan shot him a sympathetic glance, before rushing off to go tell their listeners to find a place to hide. 

Everyone scattered, all having been given jobs to do. Musichetta hadn’t told Grantaire to do anything, something that just served to further frustrate him. He knew what Enjolras was going through, he couldn’t just leave him there, not when he knew he was still alive. 

He began to formulate a plan. It was interrupted by Combeferre. 

“Grantaire, can I talk to you in my lab?” He asked, standing up.

“Um, sure.” Grantaire said, not wanting to get back on the man’s bad side. 

The taller man escorted Grantaire into his lab, taking a moment when they got in. It looked like he was contemplating something. Finally he turned to face Grantaire, giving him a stern expression, “Some of the resistance drug I’ve been working on is missing.” He cleared his throat, “If this was a suicide mission he wouldn’t have taken it. Grantaire, do you know _anything_ about this?” Enjolras wouldn’t have gone off to save himself without some form of convincing.

“Uh… no?” Grantaire lied. He cursed Combeferre’s organizational skills. 

“Grantaire.” Combeferre said his name like every syllable was a burden, “Enjolras wouldn’t have gone off to save himself without someone convincing him to. So I’ll ask again,” He took a breath, “Do you know _anything_ about this?” 

“Honestly I don’t know what to think about anything anymore! I don’t know what was going through Enjolras’ head when he left because I thought it was because he was going to get himself cured, but then Courfeyrac and I found these stupid letters and now I don’t have any idea!” Grantaire all but yelled.

“So you knew?” Combeferre asked simply. 

Grantaire steeled himself, “Yeah, I knew.” 

Combeferre sucked in a deep breath, nodding a little. He seemed to be processing what Grantaire had said. It didn’t take him long to process it though, because as soon as he exhaled his fist went flying into Grantaire’s face. “AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ANYONE?” Combeferre shouted. He paused as Grantaire stumbled back, holding his face. Honestly, he looked better now, as if punching Grantaire in the face had had some therapeutic value.

“OW, what the _FUCK_ , Ferre?” Grantaire yelled, his jaw aching. At least nothing was probably broken this time. 

“You deserved it.” Combeferre said, “I better go help the others. Don’t worry, I won’t tell them that you and your boyfriend are absolute _assholes_.” 

“But Enjolras is still in danger.” Grantaire protested, ignoring his face for the bigger issue at hand, “He’s still captured, he still could have been on a suicide mission.”

“I doubt it, if he took the drugs.” Combeferre said, “He’s not one for suicide by public execution. We can save him after the bombs.” 

“They’ve fucking got him now, though. We’ve got to get him now.”

“If anything, they’re probably just testing on him.” Combeferre said. Grantaire suppressed a shudder at the words. Combeferre’s voice held no sympathy, and it was times like these that Grantaire remembered, Combeferre had been an intern at those labs before coming to the desert, probably didn’t even think they were really all that morally wrong. Times like these that Grantaire remembered that Combeferre really could have gone far with Tomorrow Comes. 

“We don’t really know what testing is, though.” Grantaire said, “They probably think he’s resistant, like me, but he’ll remember what happened to him.” 

Combeferre looked troubled, but seemed to shrug it off, reason winning out over everything as usual. “He’s a tough kid.” Enjolras would have killed him for calling him a kid, “He’ll be fine. We’ve got to make sure everyone out here is safe, and there’s nowhere safer for him right now than the city.” 

Combeferre had a point. The city was the only place guaranteed to be void of bombs. It was sound reasoning, but it didn’t mean that Grantaire agreed with it. Now that he was sure Enjolras was alive it was like a fire ignited inside him, that thing that had felt such great loss and guilt over potentially killing his beloved now turned to determination to get the man back, while he still had the chance. 

He nodded anyways and let Combeferre go. There went his one ally in this. Looked like he’d have to do this alone. 

…  
It was very late when everyone finally went to sleep. Dawn was only two hours away, and the bombs were to be dropped at noon. It was a good thing that when Courfeyrac was tired he slept _hard_ , otherwise Grantaire never would have gotten Baby’s keys from him ever again. 

He sped off into the desert, determined to get Enjolras back with only half a plan and no means of escape. It was a bad idea, but hey, weren’t bad ideas his lifeblood by now? 

…

He got to the Patron Minette’s place around nine, not giving him much time to work with. 

“Montparnasse!” He yelled, making the man come outside. 

“You rang?” 

“I’ve got a deal for you, and you know you’re getting the better end of the bargain so please don’t waste time.” Grantaire began. Montparnasse looked like he was going to say something, but Grantaire cut him off, “I’m trading you Courf’s car for passage into the city and a motorcycle. That’s all.” 

Montparnasse huffed. Bargaining was his favorite part. But Grantaire was right, he knew what Courfeyrac’s beloved car was worth, so he stuck out his hand, shaking on the deal. 

Minutes later, Grantaire was speeding off towards the wall. Montparnasse told him the hologram would be open for twenty minutes and no longer. It was not enough time to get Enjolras out, but maybe it was enough time to get him in. You know, if the motorcycle would actually go any faster. 

He prayed he wouldn’t hit the wall as he sped towards it at breakneck speeds. He closed his eyes, half sure that this was where his life was going to end. 

Instead, he ended up barreling past a vaguely surprised group of New Paris citizens. He skidded to a stop and turned the bike around. It wouldn’t do him any good inside the city. He pushed the thing back outside the wall, barely missing the steel of the barrier coming down. 

He could only hope the bike was in one piece for his escape. Now, he needed to get into the facility. 

Grantaire stole through the city, trying to keep eyes off his strange clothing, though compared to the other Amis his fashion choices were rather muted. Suddenly he remembered his mask and quickly pulled it off, stuffing it into his pocket. He accosted the first important looking sciency stranger he saw, stealing the man’s lab coat and putting it over his clothes. He took the man’s keycard too, which proved to be a useful way to get into the facility without Marius backing him up with his hacking. 

Shit. He didn’t know how to get to the area he needed to be. Right now all he could see was the general population area, where people were only kept for a couple days of group therapy and reconditioning. He pulled out his handheld radio. 

“Hey, this is R.” He said into the static, praying that he had some kind of connection in the city, “Can someone get Joly?” 

There was a long pause of staticky noise. Grantaire stood against the wall, pretending to survey the prisoners with a blank expression. No one questioned him. 

“Grantaire?!” Joly’s voice came in, faintly. Grantaire was sure that Joly was yelling back at the base, but the connection was rather spotty after all. 

“Hey.” 

“Where are you? Why did you call me? Where are you?” Joly didn’t seem to notice that he’d repeated himself. Grantaire decided not to point it out. 

“So, Bossuet said you had a photographic memory, right?” 

“He was exaggerating, I’m only good with directions. What did you do?” 

“Well, all I need is directions, so we’re good.” Grantaire said, “How do I get to Bossuet and my cell from the front door of the facility?” 

There was a long pause. Grantaire was half afraid he’d given Joly an aneurysm. 

“Oh my god.” Joly finally said. “Oh my god, R. Why?” 

“I’m kind of on a time crunch here, Joly.” 

“Fine.” Joly said, and proceeded to give Grantaire the most specific instructions through the facility he could ever hope for. 

“Thanks man.” He said. 

“Wait-” Joly tried to say, but Grantaire shut off his radio. 

He got through the facility rather easily. It seemed that if he had a lab coat and pretend that he actually belonged, people just assumed he was where he was supposed to be. He had gotten to where his room was, but he couldn’t figure out which room was Enjolras’s. He stared at the white doors for a moment. wishing he had Marius to tell him where to go. 

Instead, Grantaire started at the first door of the “important prisoners” hall and started to kick down the doors. 

The first door fell with a resounding clatter in the relatively silent murmur of the facility. The patient inside looked at him with large, dead eyes. Grantaire wished he could rescue him, but he had to press on. 

When the second door fell, a nurse dropped a tray of pills and hurried off in the opposite direction. Grantaire contemplated going after her, but resigned himself to his fate. 

Doors three, four, five, and six went the same way. When seven fell, the halls were bathed in red light, alarms blaring. Doors eight, nine, and ten were all frantic. Grantaire was getting tired, kicking down doors was harder than he anticipated. He kicked down the eleventh door, expecting disappointment, but he was met with a head of blonde curls. 

“Oh thank god!” He sighed, rushing over to Enjolras, falling to his knees in front of where the man sat on his bed, “Enj, are you okay?” 

Enjolras looked at Grantaire for an exceedingly long moment before reaching out and putting his hands on his cheeks, feeling his face. “You’re real.” His blue eyes were dull and wide, looking resigned and panicked at the same time.

Grantaire’s heart dropped. “Yeah.” He replied, pulling the other man’s hands into his own, “I’m real. But we gotta go, babe.”

“...” Enjolras took a long moment to think, clearly not in a very good mental state, “Where are we going?” 

Grantaire could hear Operatives approaching, there wasn’t any time. “Home.” He said, and he scooped Enjolras into his arms, carrying him out of the room as fast as he could. 

Even though Enjolras was kind of short and lighter than expected (the latter due to his illness), Grantaire staggered a little under his weight. He ran as fast as he could down the halls. He was honestly surprised that no one had caught them yet. Actually, he was surprised that he hadn’t seen any Operatives when he had been sneaking through the building. Where was everyone? 

…

Enjolras had told Dr. Cubac the location of Valjean, a man Javert had thought dead for ten years. He knew that it was dangerous, going out to the wastelands when the bombs were to go off in a few hours, but Javert wasn’t about to miss his chance, not now after all this time. 

He’d taken most of the Operatives from the facility with him, as he didn’t have time to assemble a proper task force. He needed to capture Valjean before the man was killed by the bombs, to bring him to the justice he’d escaped so long.


	10. S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire makes a deal with the Patron Minette.

Grantaire wasn’t entirely sure why or how they’d done it, but they crossed the wall to get out. Not through a hologram, oh no. They fucking climbed it. He could not have told you how he got Enjolras to keep climbing the lattice-like fence across the metal of the wall. He had a suspicion that the Operatives knew they were climbing and figured they were going to die in the bombings. Grantaire wasn’t entirely sure they were wrong. 

After they climbed down the other side of the wall, Grantaire ran over to where he’d ditched the motorcycle. Thankfully, it was still there and in one piece. He drove over to Enjolras, who had maybe taken two steps in his direction. 

Grantaire ripped the bottom off his newly acquired lab coat, made Enjolras sit behind him on the bike, and secured the other man’s hands around his waist with the new strip of fabric he now had. He couldn’t have the blond falling off while they were driving. 

He sped off in the direction of the Amis’ new home, but Grantaire glanced at his watch and knew it was too late, there was no way they’d get back in time. He made the first left turn he could and sped off towards the strip club. 

The ride was silent. Grantaire didn’t know if it was because Enjolras was out of it or because he was afraid to get sand in his mouth, a legitimate concern. He pulled up at the strip club for the second time that day and yelled for Montparnasse, untying Enjolras. 

“What do you want?” Montparnasse asked, still kind of offended from their last transaction. 

“Enj, baby, I’m gonna need you to sit here with the bike and count to seventeen.” Grantaire said. He was rather aware that in the state Enjolras was in he would get no higher than ten, but his boyfriend was nothing if not determined and set off to his task.

“Woah, what’s wrong with him?” Claquesous asked, peeking around Montparnasse. 

“Oh man, that would take some time to explain.” Grantaire said, glancing over. 

“And you never seem to have much of that.” Montparnasse said, raising an eyebrow. 

“No, I don’t.” Grantaire said, an eye carefully trained on the sky, “And I know you have shelter here. So what’s it going to cost? I can trade you the bike.” He offered. 

“That’s not enough. Is one bike all your life is worth?” Claquesous asked. 

Grantaire glared. “What do you want from me?” 

“Well, you do have a pretty nice price on your head.” Claquesous said, considering. 

“You want me dead?” 

“No, the head’s got to be alive and attached to a body.” Montparnasse said, “What he means to say is, your life in exchange for your little boyfriend’s.”

Grantaire glanced back at Enjolras. He was still counting. A plane flew by overhead, there wasn’t any time left. 

“Sure.” Grantaire said, “Can we come in?” 

“Fine.” Montparnasse sighed, “And we’re keeping the bike.” 

Grantaire and Enjolras were ushered inside, and Enjolras was shown to a room. 

“I’ve got a couple conditions.” Grantaire said, “You’ve got to make sure Enjolras gets back to the Amis safe and sound.”

“Fine.” Montparnasse agreed, aware he didn’t actually have to agree to anything at this point. But he knew Grantaire was going to earn them a lot of money, so he was feeling generous. 

“What’s your other condition?” Babet asked, scarring Grantaire as he crept up from behind. 

“What?” Grantaire clutched at his heart. 

“You said ‘a couple conditions’.” Babet said, “What are the others?” 

“Uh…” Grantaire looked around, searching for inspiration. He saw Gavroche, lurking in the doorway. “Gavroche has to come back too.”

“What?” Gavroche asked from the doorway, shocked. He knew the Amis were looking for him at first, but he thought they’d given up. 

“Yeah kid, Courf’s been worried about you.” Grantaire said. Gavroche looked touched. 

“Fine, he’s been bugging us anyways.” Claquesous said. Montparnasse glared, the decisions were supposed to be his. 

“Good.” Grantaire said. “I’m gonna go hang out with Enjolras.” 

… 

Javert had been abandoned by all of his Operatives. They’d gone to safe places, Tomorrow Comes bunkers in the desert for emergencies such as this. Traitors. 

He had about given up, ready to face defeat (again) and find one of those bomb shelters, when he saw a lone man, standing out in the distance. A few people ran towards him and he ushered them to a place where they disappeared into the ground. 

Javert pressed forward, this bomb shelter had to be closer than the others and he really was running out of time. The sun made it hard to make out the man’s face, it wasn’t until he was quite close that he recognized the man. 

“24601.” He said, slight surprise hinting his tone. 

“Javert.” The man returned, his voice much more shocked. 

They stood there, staring for a moment. A plane flew overhead. 

“Well, you better come inside.” Valjean said, gesturing to the bomb shelter. 

“I… what?” 

“Come inside.” Valjean repeated, “There’s room enough for one more person.” 

Javert helplessly followed the man. 

…

The Amis were not happy that the highest ranking Operative in New Paris was sharing the bomb shelter with them. They took his gun and handcuffed him to a radiator to keep him from attacking them or something. 

Valjean chastised them for not being hospitable. They didn’t care. 

The bomb shelter didn’t hold up as well as planned. A few pieces of the ceiling fell, one hitting Bossuet in the leg, hard, and one snapping Joly’s cane. Joly was still trying to radio Grantaire, but his radio didn’t seem to be on. 

The Amis sat in a tense silence for the duration of the bombings, the silence only broken by Jehan writing notes for a dramatic retelling for the radio show. 

… 

Grantaire and Enjolras sat in relative silence as the bombs fell. The foundation of the building shook, dust falling everywhere. They were holding hands. Grantaire wasn’t sure the ceiling wasn’t going to cave in. 

Eventually, there was a break. Grantaire looked to his boyfriend and was sad to see that his eyes still held a faraway look. “Hey.” He said, “What are you thinking about?” 

“I…” Enjolras took a long moment to think over what he wanted to say. He was feeling a little more himself now, but he still felt off. “I love you so much, Grantaire.” Enjolras’s voice was soft and quiet. 

“I love you too.” Grantaire said, squeezing the man’s hand tighter. He was so afraid of being taken back to the city, now that he just got Enjolras back. “You know that I’ve loved you this whole time, right? Even if I didn’t always know, even if I didn’t always act like I did.” He needed him to know before it was too late, and he didn’t have time to write a letter. 

Enjolras wordlessly leaned up to give Grantaire a long, sweet kiss. When he pulled away the blond looked like he’d remembered something far away, “Grantaire,” He squeezed the cynic’s hand back a little, pulling him closer. He felt the same need he’d felt for Grantaire when he’d been sick. The need for that love and that control. 

The brunette blushed as he felt himself getting closer to Enjolras. His cheeks burned as he felt the hot breath on his neck and heard his name whispered again. He couldn’t resist that plea. “Shhh,” He pressed a kiss to Enjolras’ temple as the blond leaned back onto the ground. 

Enjolras’s hands were pale and cold beneath Grantaire’s shirt as they made their way up to his sides. Grantaire shuddered a little, leaning down and ensnaring Enjolras in another deep kiss. He felt a vague memory of something like this from a long time ago. Instinct was enough to keep him going. His hands wandered and he heard Enjolras gasp, a soft smile playing onto Grantaire’s lips.

Enjolras shivered a little as his back arched to lessen the space between him and Grantaire’s lips as soft kisses and warm hands explored his body. He reached down to his hips, gently sliding off the black shorts he wore. Grantaire’s hands eagerly moved lower and Enjolras moaned louder. Soon the two were lost in each other and the rest of the night went by in a passionate blur. 

…

Valjean and Bahorel drove Javert within walking distance of the city. Bahorel had taken the man’s gun and, after they let the man out of the car, threw the gun out the window behind him. After all, it was a dangerous place close to the wall and they didn’t want him out there without protection. 

Javert picked up his gun and began the long, confusing trek back to the city. He’d have a lot to think about, about these rebels. 

… 

When Grantaire woke up the next morning Enjolras was pressed against him, his pale skin soft and warm. He looked so beautiful… like a sleeping angel. Grantaire was sure he’d never seen such a calm expression bless the revolutionary’s face. Unfortunately the moment was ruined when the door was thrown open by Gavroche.

“Montparnasse said that you two better fucking hurry up.” The kid said, grinning up at the two while Grantaire groaned and buried his face in his pillow, “Otherwise he’s going to just drag you to New Paris without pants.” 

“Fine.” Grantaire said into the pillow. Gavroche seemed satisfied and closed the door. 

“What does he mean, ‘drag you to New Paris without pants’?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire cursed internally. He thought Enjolras was asleep. 

“I think he was telling me to hurry up.” Grantaire said. 

Enjolras was silent for a moment. He felt like something was going on behind his back, but he shook the thought from his head. He trusted Grantaire, “Alright.”

Grantaire swallowed. When Enjolras caught on he was so screwed. They got up and got dressed. Enjolras only had his uniform from the city. The blond looked slightly upset at his clothes, and Grantaire had the perfect solution. 

“Hey, why don’t you borrow my clothes?” He asked, offering his jacket, pants, and shoes to the revolutionary. 

“No, you shouldn’t have to wear this thing again.” Enjolras said, looking down at the pile of clothes before looking back at Grantaire. He was acting strange. “Grantaire?”

“No, I’m serious.” Grantaire said, handing him the clothes again, more insistent. “The facility clothes are more comfortable anyways. And they’ve been washed sometime in the last month. I should be thanking you.” 

Enjolras hesitantly traded clothing with Grantaire, everything of the cynic’s a little larger on him than his own uniform. He blushed when Grantaire smirked at him.

“You look adorable.” The brunette leaned in, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. He held the man’s sides so he could feel the pockets of his jacket and make sure his mask was still inside. If they didn’t hurry along Montparnasse would probably barge in and ruin the moment himself. 

“Shut up.” Enjolras stuck out his tongue, cheeks flushed. “Let’s go home.” 

They headed out to the main room. Montparnasse dramatically rolled his eyes when he saw the way they were dressed. 

“Alright.” Montparnasse said, mostly to Grantaire, “We’ll drop off blondie and Gav first, you’re going to stay here with Gueulemer.” 

“What?” Enjolras asked, looking up at Grantaire, “Why aren’t you coming with us?” 

“I had to trade something for a safe place during the bombs.” The artist said, looking more at the ground than his boyfriend. “I was the only thing I had to trade.” 

“No, you can’t go back there!” Enjolras protested. Claquesous was going to make him shut up, but Montparnasse stopped him, you couldn’t pay for this kind of entertainment in the wastelands. “I won’t let you go back there.” 

“You can’t stop it.” Grantaire said, “I already made a deal.” 

“It’s true.” Babet chimed in. 

“But you can’t go.” Enjolras said, quietly. “I love you.” 

Grantaire swallowed, “Love couldn’t have stopped a bomb.” 

Enjolras’s face fell. 

“Alright, we’re leaving.” Montparnasse said, grabbing Enjolras’s wrist. The blond tried to brace himself, but he was kind of weak after everything. 

“Fuck you, Grantaire, you can’t leave me here alone!” He yelled as Montparnasse pulled him out the door, Gavroche following after. 

“Love you too!” Grantaire called, trying to cover the nerves in his voice. He didn’t want to go back. 

Enjolras was dragged to the car, formerly Courfeyrac’s Baby, and his wrists and mouth were duct-taped to keep him quiet and (somewhat) cooperative for the drive over. Gavroche hopped into the car beside the fuming blond. The drive over was surprisingly silent, especially for Montparnasse as the driver, but as they approached Valjean’s bunker he hit the goddamn distinct and annoying horn, announcing their presence to the Amis.

“Claquesous.” Montparnasse turned back to the shady looking man who was also in the backseat. The man grinned as the car screeched to a halt momentarily and he picked up and tossed the blond into the sand, Gavroche jumping out of the car after him. It was just for all the Amis to see Montparnasse speeding away and Enjolras lying in the sand, Gavroche standing beside him. 

“What. The. _Fuck_.” Courfeyrac said, taking in the scene of his car, driven by their rivals, his best friend-in Grantaire’s clothes no less-duct taped on the ground, and the goddamned stupid kid he’d been looking for for weeks all in one place. 

“Courf!” Gavroche cheered, “Grantaire said you missed me!” 

“Of course I missed you, you fucking brat.” Courfeyrac said automatically, still sort of just staring at Enjolras while his beautiful, lovely, work-of-art car drove away. 

“What the fuck?” Jehan asked, running up behind his boyfriend. He knelt by Enjolras and helped him sit up. “What even-”

He was cut off by Combeferre running past them and throwing his arms around the still duct-taped Enjolras, crushing the smaller man to his chest. 

“You fucking asshole, if you ever do that again…” Combeferre began to threaten, but he trailed off when he heard Enjolras trying to tell him something. 

“Oh, sorry sweetie.” Jehan said, reaching over and pulling the duct tape off Enjolras’s face. 

“Grantaire.” He said, looking back to where Courfeyrac’s car had disappeared. 

“Where’s R?” Joly asked, limping out with Bossuet’s help. He’d lost his cane at some point during the confusion of the bombings. 

“He… He’s gone back to the city.” Enjolras said, “Made a deal with Montparnasse.” 

“That fucking idiot!” Bossuet exclaimed, “If he could have just waited a little longer…” 

“I… I couldn’t wait any longer.” Enjolras said, “It… It’s pretty bad there. We’ve got to get him out fast.” 

Bossuet looked confused. Sure, the meds had sucked, but nothing had been that bad when he was in the facility. He opened his mouth to say so, but Musichetta, materializing out of seemingly nowhere, put her hand on his shoulder and shook her head. 

“We should get inside.” Combeferre said, helping Enjolras up and releasing his wrists from the duct tape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for everyone who has read or kudos'd this work, and especially thanks to those who have commented, we appreciate each and every one of you so much <3 This project has taken a considerable amount of time from the both of us and your support really just keeps us going (so much so that even past chapter fifteen the story isn't truly over ;D ). Thank you so much you guys, you rock!


	11. Summertime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire returns to the facility and regains his memories, he and Enjolras reflect on their shared summer in the city.

When Montparnasse got back to his base, he called Javert directly. He’d been given a phone-unheard of for rebels-with a direct line to Javert. It took the man three more rings than usual to pick up. 

“What?” The man asked. Montparnasse would be offended if that wasn’t his customary greeting. 

“I’ve got a little something that might interest you.” Montparnasse said, glancing back at Grantaire. The man had a curiously blank expression. Montparnasse stuck his tongue out at him.

“What is it?” Javert’s irritation was tangible. Montparnasse loved it. 

“Oh, just a little artist.” The man said, twirling his finger in the cord. 

“I don’t have time for this.” Javert sighed. 

“No one ever has time.” Montparnasse pouted, “It’s R.” 

There was a lengthy silence on the other end. 

“You still there?” Montparnasse asked after he lost his patience with the drama. 

“Yes.” Javert said, “Bring him in, I’m in my office.” 

“Alright babe.” Montparnasse said just to irritate him. “See you!” 

Javert hung up. 

“Alright.” Montparnasse said, turning back to Grantaire. “Time to go.”

…

Grantaire didn’t pay attention to the whole drive. He supposed Montparnasse was trying to be nice, letting him listen to the radio show as long as it was in range, but all that was playing was jazz. Must have been Gavroche’s turn to DJ. 

The desert slipped past and he looked longingly at the colors. Everything in the city was black and white, or some kind of grayscale. Even the few colors decorating the city were muted. Nothing like this. 

They got to the city after an eternity that went by far too quickly. Babet handcuffed Grantaire as soon as the car came to a stop. He looked up at the building, it was probably the most aesthetically pleasing building in the city, but Grantaire felt sick at the sight of it. 

Getting turned in was a blur. He remembered Javert visiting him, checking the doctors’ progress when he was there before. Javert looked more disapproving than normal. 

Grantaire was brought through the showers, his clothes-Enjolras’s uniform-were taken, and they cut his hair. He was glad there wasn’t a mirror in his room when he was dropped off in his cell to wait for someone to talk to him about his crimes. He looked at his hands. The color seemed drained from his tan skin in the stark light. It was like nothing changed. He suddenly wished he’d gotten a tattoo with Eponine when she offered to take him, a few long months ago. Then at least he could be sure that he hadn’t just dreamed it all. 

Three hours passed. The door opened and Grantaire jumped, he’d been so deep in thought he forgot to be ready for the door. Dr. Cubac walked in. Grantaire swallowed hard, remembering his fears from a year ago, when he’d been released. This man was the physical embodiment of everything terrible in the facility. 

“82473.” The man said. Grantaire’s heart sank at the number. He didn’t respond. “You’ve been busy. And wow, look at that bruise!” 

Grantaire continued not to respond. He wished he had some kind of snappy comeback, he would if it were anyone else. But this man made him freeze up.

“Not feeling very talkative? Hopefully that will change.” The man said. His voice held a faux-gentle tone, something that send terrified shivers down his spine. “I’ve decided to give you a present to welcome you back.”

Grantaire felt dread, heavy in his stomach. There was no way this was going to be a good thing. He remained silent, but Dr. Cubac didn’t seem to care. 

“I’ll be giving you your memories back! Hooray!” The man said, grinning at Grantaire. “What do you say?” 

Grantaire didn’t respond. 

“What do you say, 82473?” The man asked. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes. If he wanted to get through this a second time, Grantaire was going to have to pick: obey or disobey. 

“Thank you.” He said. The doctor’s grin widened. 

“Very good, 82473.” The man said, “After your little friend came to me we did some blood tests and, well… your DNA was in his blood. Now how would that happen?” 

Grantaire didn’t respond. He thought the question might be rhetorical, and the man continued on as if it was. 

“I know you won’t tell on your friends, yet. However, that does tell us that the resistance is indeed in your blood, and not caused by repressed psychological factors, so your memory being erased is irrelevant.” The doctor said. He couldn’t figure out the catch. “We’ll take you in as soon as the lab is ready and your paperwork done.” 

And with that, Dr. Cubac left. An Operative came in after a time, reading him a list of all of his known crimes and asking him to confess whatever else he’d done. It was a rather incomplete list, but he wasn’t about to let them know. It wasn’t like getting in the Operatives’ good book for honesty was going to work out in his favor anyways. 

A nurse was in soon after, escorting him to a room where Dr. Cubac was waiting. 

“While you’re getting your memories back I hope you don’t mind if we test on your body. It’s quite painful, but you should be thoroughly awake for the whole process, which is the real important part.” Dr, Cubac said.

Oh, so there the catch was. The nurse sat him down in a chair covered in restraints and began to lock him in. After she was done, she hooked some circular things attached to wires to Grantaire’s forehead. Dr. Cubac was typing something on a laptop. When the nurse finished what she was doing, she started to fill a syringe with a thick, green liquid. Grantaire’s heart started to race. 

Dr. Cubac finished whatever he was doing and hooked the computer up to the wires. 

“Regaining your memories might be confusing and painful. Feel free to not tell me about that.” The doctor said, and signaled to the nurse for her to inject Grantaire with the serum, while he decisively pressed a button on the computer. 

“Wait-”Grantaire tried to protest, but it was too late and he was lost to his memories and the pain. 

…

_R had grown up in the North Sector, the area with all the geniuses and invaluable developers for Tomorrow Comes. His father had been an engineer for the company, designing all of the infrastructure. He’d been rather high up and was a genius in math._

_R, however, held none of the aptitude that his father did. Since he sucked at all the school’s subjects, aside from art, he was put into the slower school, the one for people who would be relocated to other Sectors after they graduated. His father was very displeased. His father also insisted that he try harder and harder in his schoolwork, demanding that he get good grades, but by the time R was in his Junior year of high school it was already too late, and his father just decided to stop talking to him._

_R figured he’d be put into a graphic design training school after he graduated, so he stopped trying in all the other fields of study. He had no friends in his school and now was not the time to make them, he’d been working at being a good student for too long, everyone had already fit themselves into their friend groups. Met with silence at home and silence at school, R set out to do something with his life, and bringing art to the public eye had seemed a noble enough cause._

…

Enjolras sat on the edge of his bed as Courfeyrac sat beside him, rubbing soothing circles into his back. Combeferre was pacing, trying to go through the Ami’s plan in his mind to make sure it was foolproof. Their rescue had to go off without a hitch, especially now that Tomorrow Comes had likely ramped up security since his own jailbreak. Enjolras reflected a little, thinking back on the not too long ago time all three of them had shared their last summer in the city together. The summer before senior year.

…  
 _Enjolras huffed, irritated. This summer he wouldn’t have either one of his closest friends to hang out with, as they’d both preoccupied themselves with other work. Combeferre had gotten an internship at Tomorrow Comes Labs and although Courfeyrac had been free in the first couple of weeks of the summer all he’d done was drag Enjolras to the local ping-pong clubs (the places that all the teens were expected to hang out in the summer and after school) before finally deciding he wanted to work on some modifications for his car. Enjolras didn’t understand any of that stuff, so he was alone in his daily walks through the city._

_He walked through the back alleys, exploring. There was a painting from a local artist, called R because of the way he signed his work, that he liked to look at. It was a beautiful girl, dressed up in the normal Tomorrow Comes approved clothing, but with dangerous pink high heels. There was something about that image, something about the way the girl seemed to be hiding in plain sight, it made Enjolras feel something like determination._

_He had that same determination when he and his schoolyard friends, Courfeyrac and Combeferre, had shoved themselves into a tiny closet, the only unmonitored room in the entire school building, to have discussions about the unfairness of the city, of Tomorrow Comes. They’d been doing it since Sophomore year, knowing they were moments from disciplinary action every time. The teachers trusted them, however, so no one had caught on._

_There were a bunch of teenagers like them, Enjolras knew. Puberty was this experimentally phase where no one really knew what dose of the medication you were going to need. The three of them had lied every time their parents asked if they were experiencing strange feelings, and thus were mostly free from the medication._

_Enjolras broke out of his reverie when he realized the painting was gone. Enjolras got to the place it should have been and frowned at the stark, white wall. Workers must have found it and painted over it._

_“Hey.” A voice said casually. Enjolras turned, praying it wasn’t an Operative patrolling. It was just another teenager, dressed in the monochromatic style of the city. “You looking for the painting too?”_

_“Yeah,” Enjolras said, looking back to the wall. “I’m pretty upset it’s gone, it was my favorite so far.”_

_“Really?” The kid asked, his voice oddly gleeful, Enjolras turned to look at him again, “I was going to paint something else this time, but if you want I can redraw it.”_

_“Wait- you’re the one who’s been painting all the murals?” Enjolras asked, looking very surprised. Despite his clean cut clothing the kid was a bit scruffy and his hair was wild- he looked like a surprisingly attractive hobo. “You’re R?”_

_“Yep.” The kid said, popping the p. “I didn’t think anyone actually looked at them though.”_

_“I love them- I mean, me and my friends love them.” Enjolras said. He lowered his voice a little, “You could get in a lot of trouble… We admire people like that.”_

_“Yeah, well…” R said, picking a spray paint can out of his bag and looking at it intently, like he was trying to maintain his composure, “You know.”  
Enjolras looked at the can of spray paint and back up at R, “What are you going to paint this time?” He asked, taking a seat on one of the shining stainless steel dumpsters. _

_“Uh, do you actually mind if I paint… you?” R asked, “It’s just, you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”_

_Enjolras let out a snort of disbelief that could have been mistaken for mocking, “And you’re the least conventionally attractive person I’ve ever met.” It was true. R was not Tomorrow Comes standard of an attractive man. But to Enjolras that made him even more attractive._

_“Oh wow, nice way to take a compliment.” R said, but he laughed a little, “So was that a yes or a no?”_

_“Sure.” Enjolras grinned, cheeks flushing slightly. “I’d be honored.”_

_R nodded and got to work. Enjolras watched in silence for a few minutes while the artist painted what looked like just blobs of color._

_“I like your nose.” Enjolras blurted out after several minutes of silently studying the teen from his perch atop the dumpster._

_R almost dropped his spray can. He turned to the other teen. “You like my nose?”_

_“I mean, you’re hot.” Enjolras wanted to die a little on the inside as soon as he said it. Unusually he had a way with words, but now… not so much. Still, he stood by it. “I said you weren’t conventionally attractive. I think you’re hot.” _

…

Grantaire was still in the chair being tortured. He felt as though his bones were melting, but if he concentrated on the pain in his head and the bittersweet memories, it almost took his mind off of it.

…

_”I mean you’re hot,” The hottest person on the planet was saying to R, “I said you weren’t conventionally attractive. I think you’re hot.” _

_R could have died happy in that moment. “You think I’m hot?” He squeaked out._

_“Yeah.” The teen said, “And I really like your nose.” The blond boy on the dumpster replied._

_R laughed, disbelieving. “And you like my nose.” He echoed, grinning. He turned to paint some more, glancing up at the blond every now and then for reference and to laugh a little._

_“I’m serious.” The other boy pouted. He looked a little defeated as he watched the artist. R was adding stark black outlines to the painting, almost done._

_“I know.” R said, smiling as he took a step back from the painting and signed it with a swooping gold R. The artist had painted the blond just as he was, current clothing and all, but with a bright red jacket painted over his t shirt. The blond surveyed it silently “Do you like it?”_

_The teen stared at it in awe, finally hopping down. “Wow.” He blinked, “You’re amazing.”_

_“Thanks.” R said, putting his paint away and pulling black gloves over his hands to hide the paint, “I’m really glad you like it.”_

_The blond looked at him, then reached his hand out to touch the artist’s face. R’s eyes widened, but the other teen just ran his thumb over a wet spot on his face. It came away red, as though wet with blood._

_“There’s still some on your face.” The blond said, as R rubbed at his cheek with the sleeve of his already ruined sweatshirt. He glanced at his watch and felt his heart sink a little._

_“Thanks Apollo.” R said, smiling, and hefted his bag onto his shoulder, “See you!”_

_“Wait!” The teen tried to make him stay, but R disappeared into the twists and turns. He was already late._

_He ran most of the way home, climbing through his window and stashing his painting bag under his bed, not in its normal place, the ceiling. He stripped his painting clothes off and ditched them under the bed as well, running to the bathroom to wash the paint and chemical smell off his skin. He needed to be fast, his father would be home any minute._

_He had just finished drying his hair, when he heard his father open the front door. R rushed out to his room, sitting at his desk and cracking open an art reference book, pretending he was reading and taking an interest in his future or whatever. His father opened the door without knocking._

_R looked up as his father crossed the room, leaning over his shoulder to look at the book. He cringed, worried the man could either smell the paint on his skin or the soap._

_“You know that this is a worthless pastime.” R’s father said to him. R nodded._

_“It’s my future career, father. The papers were already submitted.” He reminded. Their only conversations lately had been a reiteration of the same thing._

_“Things wouldn’t be like this if you’d just tried harder.”_

_“I know.”_

_His father nodded curtly and left. R was left to his own devices once more. He shut the book and collapsed on his bed, the image of his new blond fixation stuck in his mind. He sighed._

_…_

_Days later he returned to the place he’d painted the blond. His Apollo. He’d been carrying around his art reference book, the one with three depictions of the actual god, for days, hoping he’d see the blond and be able to explain the nickname. R was in the only group of people allowed to know anything about any kind of history before the war and New Paris, but he was sure it would interest someone like his Apollo._

_The painting was once more covered in white paint, and this time he noticed a little camera near it, surveying the area. R would have to find a place to relocate the painting to. His heart sank, how would he find the blond if they didn’t have a meeting place?_

_“Hey!” Apollo came out from behind the dumpster, careful enough to stay out of view of the camera, “You’re back,” He was grinning, a red square of fabric tied around his neck like a bandana of some sort. It stuck out against his monochromatic clothing._

_“Hey!” R said, grinning widely. “I didn’t know if I’d see you again.”_

_“I was wondering the same thing.” Apollo admitted. He toyed with his bandana a little, “I- I found this. It reminded me of your painting, so I decided to wear it. What do you think?” He looked a little nervous but also excited._

_“I think it looks great.” R said, edging around where he thought the cameras could see to get closer to the blond, “It’s a good color for you.” He paused for a moment, “Hey, do you want to go somewhere where there’s not a camera?”_

_“I’d love to, got any ideas?” The blond asked, inching forward. He carefully walked with the brunette out of the alleyway, trying to look as casual as a kid who’d been waiting behind a dumpster in a red bandana could._

_“Apollo, I know this city like the back of my hand.” R said, leading the way through the twists and turns of a few alleys. They came to what looked like a dead end, three white walls making an almost-room. R set down his bag of paint._

_“I’m sorry they covered up your painting again.” Apollo leaned up against one of the walls, pushing his hands into his pockets. “It was really good too…”_

_“It happens all the time.” R said, shrugging, “It’s not like they’re going to give me any awards for graffiti.” He pulled the art reference book out of his bag and flipped to a page, before handing it to the blond. “Here, I wanted to show you this.”_

_“‘Death of Hyacinthos’.” The other teen read, before silently reading the rest of the page, his mouth moving a little as he concentrated. R thought it was incredibly endearing. “What is this?”_

_“A painting?” R said, had his Apollo never seen one before?_

_“No, this book. What is it talking about?” R looked over at what the blond was referring to, a bit of the page that said “Culture Connection” and had a blurb about the history of the characters in the painting._

_“Oh, art books usually have those.” R said, “It just tells you like, the context of it all.”_

_“This one… he’s called Apollo?” The blond pointed to the other blond on the page, “Is that why you call me that?” He looked up from his reading. He looked confused._

_“Yeah.” R said, “Apollo was the god of the sun and music and all this cool stuff.”_

_“So he and this…” His Apollo glanced back at the book for the name, “Hyacinthos were lovers?”_

_“Yeah.” R said, suddenly a little nervous, “That doesn’t bother you, right? I mean I know it’s not allowed and all, but it’s just a book and…”_

_The blond laughed, blushing a little. He buried his face in the book to hide his flushed cheeks. “Bother me? Why should it…? I mean… I don’t really agree with Tomorrow Comes, me and my friends, we actually have meetings about a rebellion… It’s all talk though, I guess. We’ll never actually make it out of the city.”_

_“I mean, I know you guys don’t agree, but like that’s a really touchy thing for people and… uh. Anyways. Um, if anyone could make it out of the city it’d be you.” R said, cursing himself internally as he stumbled over his words. He wished he could disappear into the city again like last time, but he wasn’t entirely sure his Apollo could make it back out of the alleys, the kid did not look like he’d been paying attention to their surroundings on the way there._

_“If I ever make it out, the first thing I’m going to do is kiss another guy. This stupid city can’t suppress me forever.” He crossed his arms, huffing. “I mean, I don’t even see what’s so wrong with liking other guys in the first place, it’s not hurting anyone.”_

_R thought time froze in that moment, giving him time to be astonished that anyone would ever talk about such a thing in the city, even far away from cameras, time to be ecstatic that his crush was obviously gay, and time to internally celebrate because the other teen was probably flirting with him before._

_At least he thought time froze. In actuality his brain to mouth filter froze and he said “I mean, there’s no cameras around here, so if you wanted to kiss a boy in the city you could.”_

_“Oh.” The blond blinked, looking up at R. “I could.” He looked as if the thought had never occurred to him, “But no one else would-”_

_“I would.” R said, too fast, cutting him off. He wondered again if disappearing into the city would be such a bad thing after all._

_The blond paused momentarily, as if processing what R had told him before walking over to him. He took advantage of the artist’s petrified-from-embarrassment state and put his hand on R’s cheek, leaning up to give him a quick and soft kiss. When he pulled back away he was beaming with pride, as if he’d just done the most impressive thing in the universe._

_“I’m going to lead a rebellion against the city, and when it’s all over I’m going to marry you.” The blond grinned, “If you’ll have me, that is.”_

_“I…” R began, but he cut himself off. He couldn’t believe his ears, who was this kid? They’d met maybe twice and he was proposing? The scary thing was that R wanted to say yes, “I… But I hardly know you!”_

_“Are you saying you don’t believe in love at first sight? You’re an artist rebelling against the city with your graffiti but you’re not a romantic?” Apollo crossed his arms, “I thought I was the cynic.”_

_R shook his head, smiling, “I could be a romantic for you.” He searched the other teen’s eyes to see if he was serious, “Apollo, you get us out of the city and ask me again, okay?”_

_The blond grinned, “Alright.”_

_Later that night, when R was at home after a repeat of the same conversation with his dad and a silent dinner, he smiled at his ceiling. Maybe there was some hope out there after all._

…

Enjolras was helping Courfeyrac with construction of his new car, the one that would get them in and out of the city with Grantaire this time. They had a plan that mostly revolved around this car and a new air-based resistance drug Combeferre was cooking up now that he knew his initial drug had passed human testing (Enjolras). The leader passed his friend the wrench as he recalled the events of that last summer he’d spent in the city.

“I actually asked him to marry me.” The blond scoffed at the idea, “I was an idiot back then, wasn’t I?” He kicked a rusted bucket over, sighing.

“An idiot?” Courfeyrac gasped, “My god Enj, you were adorable! I never thought you were a romantic! What has this world done to harden you so?” Courfeyrac rolled out from beneath the car, a shocked expression on his face.

“Oh, I don’t know, watching over half of the people I recruited to lead a rebellion die might have had something to do with it.” The blond rolled his eyes, but Courfeyrac stood up, going straight up to him, and taking him by the shoulders.

“You have to ask him. You promised when you got out of the city that you would.” Courfeyrac sounded as if it was his destiny, or some sort of prophecy. “But for now, tell me the rest of the story. I’m still waiting to hear about how my best friend popped his cherry with the infamous artist, R!”

Enjolras groaned, “Oh my god, Courfeyrac…”

…

_Enjolras stood in the dark alley waiting for R to show up. He checked his watch, sighing a little. He was late again. He always was. It’d been about a month since he’d first met R now, and tonight he was going to show him someplace very special that he’d found on the edge of the city. All he had to do was wait for R to finally arrive._

_“Hey Apollo, sorry I’m late.” R said when he came into view, kissing the blond on the cheek._

_“I was getting worried that the Ops caught you.”Enjolras laughed a little, “Jeez, you’re covered in paint, where did you hit this time?” Enjolras asked him, going to go check it out tomorrow before it got covered up by Tomorrow Comes._

_“That one place by the fountain.” R said, dropping his bag, “You been waiting long?”_

_“No. Not long at all. But like I said, I’ve got a surprise to show you.” Enjolras extended his hand, “It’s a little bit aways from here, so you may want to take your bag with you.”_

_“Okay.” R said, taking the blond’s hand and following him._

_Enjolras lead R to the edge of the city laughing with him as R begged to know where they were going. “I promise, I promise, it’s just a little bit further.” He grinned as finally stopped in front of small concrete shack up against the wall of the city. He paused to wiggle the lock off of the chain, motioning for R to follow him in. He was cautious as he shut the door behind R, trying to be quiet._

_“It’s kind of dark in here…” R said in the darkness._

_“Just wait a second… and-” Enjolras struck a match and lit a candle on an old metal table. “Here it is!” The room was illuminated. It was a very small concrete room, with no windows and a ladder in the corner that led up to the roof of the building. There was nothing but a table with the candle atop it and a blanket on the ground. “It’s not much, but it used to be a checkpoint for the wall but since they got the new ones they abandoned this place. I’ve been watching it all week, nobody even patrols here.”_

_R looked around in astonishment. He beamed at Enjolras, “This place is perfect! Can I paint the walls?”_

_Enjolras laughed a little, “Yeah, of course.” He smiled, “I figured meeting in an alley all the time was a little too risky.”_

 

…

“That does not sound like sex is happening.” Courfeyrac said, pouting. “You promised me sex, Enjolras, I want sex.” 

“You called?” Jehan said, peeking out from around the car with some drinks. Courfeyrac grinned at his boyfriend. 

“You’re the most perfect person in the world, you know that?” He said, kissing Jehan on the cheek, “Enjolras was just about to tell me about how he and Grantaire totally did the nasty.” 

“Ooh, storytime!” Jehan cheered, sitting down to listen. 

“I didn’t promise anything…” Enjolras crossed his arms, “But we started meeting there every day after the sun went down. We did make out there. It went on for most of the summer, actually.”

…

_Enjolras slipped into the shack, nearly dropping his things as he saw R in the room already, putting the final details on a large mural on the back wall. “Holy shit R, I thought you were an Op,” Enjolras slid down the door, gripping his chest as he caught his breath. “What are you doing here so early?”_

_“I just… I wanted to paint you something.” R said, wiping at his face with a paint stained hand. His eyes were red, but Enjolras assumed it was from the paint fumes. He had blue and red paint in his hair. “Do you like it?”_

_As R stepped away Enjolras stared in awe at the larger-than-life version of ‘The Death of Hyacinthos’ except instead of Apollo and Hyacinthos it was Enjolras and R. The blond’s jaw hung open, emotion swelling up inside of him. It was so vibrant and colorful and every stroke was absolutely beautiful. “R…” Enjolras stepped forward._

_R looked up at him from where he’d been looking at his feet waiting for a reaction, “So… you like it?”_

_“I love it!” Enjolras practically tackled R, not caring if he got paint all over his clothing. “It’s amazing.”He mumbled into R’s shoulder._

_R didn’t know what to say, so he leaned down to kiss his boyfriend, getting paint from his hands on the blond’s face as he held it._

…

“And then we did it.” Enjolras shrugged a little.

“That’s _all_?!” Courfeyrac demanded, outraged. 

“Come on, Enjolras!” Jehan whined. 

“Yep. That’s all.” Enjolras gave Courfeyrac an annoyed look, as if he should have been satisfied with his response already. “What did you expect?” 

“What did I _expect_? I don’t know, Enj! Fireworks, love confessions, seeing intense pleasure in each other’s eyes!” He threw his hands in the air as if giving up hope in the leader, “Something!” 

“Romance! Rose petals!” Jehan supplied. 

“Candles, mood music, champagne!” Courfeyrac added. 

“It wasn’t even that good. We were teenagers. We hardly knew what we were doing.” Enjolras shrugged. His cheeks were beginning to burn, “Can’t we get back to working on the car?”

…

Grantaire cried out in pain, his flashback broken once more by the intensity of the testing on his body. Dr. Cubac said something, but he couldn’t hear it, his mind fuzzy. He was half delirious from pain and half stuck in the past. Eventually some of the pain subsided and he slipped blissfully back into his teenage years. 

…

_R kissed the blond before him with a passion and need. His Apollo met him with the very same need, leaning back. It was like a fire had been ignited between the two of them as they both sank down to the floor, R over Enjolras. The blond took R’s hands in his and traced them down his body. It felt hot to the touch, just like the sun._

_“Apollo,” R whispered, his breath hot against Apollo’s neck. The blond gasped slightly as R pressed his lips against his neck, and began to undo his pants. He felt even more lust as his Apollo reached his own hands to pull off R’s trousers._

_“R,” The blond breathed as he reached into the artist’s pants and his soft hand made contact with R’s stiff member. R moaned in delight as Apollo gently pulled the fabric of his boxers down, letting his erection spring forth. “I want you…”_

_“I have no idea what I’m doing…” R mumbled, blushing. He’d managed to free the blond of his pants and underwear. He felt Apollo spread his legs beneath him._

_“Neither do I.” Apollo admitted, laughing softly._

_“As long as you’re sure-” R was cut off as Apollo pulled him down against him into a deep kiss._

…

Grantaire snapped out of it, gasping for breath as it felt like the doctor was stabbing him. He concentrated on the pain, not wanting to remember his intimate time with Enjolras in that moment. He had no idea what Dr. Cubac could see on his screen, if it was a window into his mind or something. He doubted it, but better safe than sorry. 

After a few minutes, Grantaire gave in to the pain and sunk back into his memories. 

…

_R was late home that night, and on the way back his heart was racing. On the one hand he was fucking thrilled about everything that had just happened, but on the other… his father was going to kill him. _

_He ditched his bag in his ceiling (a necessary waste of time) and all but dove into the shower, not waiting for the water to heat up before he started to try to scrub the paint out of his hair and off of his skin. He heard the bathroom door slam open and his heart nearly leap out of his chest._

_His father threw back the curtain of the shower, causing R to shriek in surprise. The man dragged him out of the shower and threw him to the floor, throwing a towel on him to preserve his dignity._

_“So, it’s just like I suspected.” His father said, grasping a paint stained arm and glaring down at his son. R adjusted the towel, trying to shrink into it._

_His father had told him about the graffiti all over town, signed with the first letter of R’s middle name. R had told him he had no idea what it was about, but his father had been more and more suspicious of him. He’d been doing the painting to get his mind off his father, to somehow tell his Apollo that he was probably going to die because of this romance. _

_R made no response. His father scoffed at him._

_“You are not to leave this house.” His father said, and he raked his eyes across R’s bedraggled frame, his eyes pausing on the hickeys Apollo had left on his collarbone. “And you are not to meet with whatever girl you’ve been seeing.”_

_R almost laughed at the absurdity of the statement, but he knew better and kept his mouth shut, just nodding his understanding. His father made a grunting noise and left him there, slamming the door behind him._

_R shivered, stuck in place on his floor. He could hear his father trashing his room through the door. He was confident that he wouldn’t find the paint, but he knew that all his pencils and paper and art reference books were goners. He bit back a sob. If his father found him crying he’d just try to get his medication upped again. He was already on a substantial dose for someone his age, but all it did was make his head ache._

_He crawled back into the shower and sat, letting the hot water run over his skin. After he was sure his father had left the other room he let out his first near silent sob, and others followed fast._

_…_

_A week and a half passed and R was going insane. His father expected him to just sit at home, watching TV or something, while the man was at work and R was just about to kill himself from boredom and a longing to see his Apollo._

_If he had to watch one more goddamned propaganda cartoon he was going to scream._

_He paced his room, pausing to look at his window every once in awhile, and his ceiling where he knew his spray paint still was. He glared at his door. He looked back at the ceiling and then at the window. He remembered the blood red heart painted on the wall just past where they first met, and how he had wanted everyone to know who all his love notes had been for. He wanted to scream from the tops of the stark white skyscrapers that he loved his beautiful Apollo and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him._

_“Fuck it.” R said, taking the tile down. He slipped into his paint-stained hoodie, he missed it more than he thought he would. He hefted his bag on his shoulder and glanced at the door. Too risky. His father would have cameras on the door. He did the only logical thing, he kicked out his window._

_R was never sure if his dad had any kind of alarms on the house and he didn’t stick around to find out, his boots crunched through the broken glass as he ran. He was out of breath by the time he got into the familiar back alley, pulling out a random spray can-pink-and painted a message to his Apollo._

_“Run away with me” was all he wrote, and he ran back to the tiny room, pausing only to paint pink hearts along the walls._

_He got to the place and waited, pacing the room. An hour passed before the door opened. R flipped out, brandishing a ruler as a weapon, but it was just his Apollo._

_“R!” The blond looked at him with a combination of relief and confusion, “Where the hell have you been? Are you alright?” He rushed over to R, wrapping him in a tight hug._

_“I’m fine,” R said. It was true, at least physically, “It doesn’t matter where I’ve been, I just needed to see you.” He returned the blond’s hug, holding onto him as though he was afraid he’d disappear._

_“I’m right here.” The blond gave him a soft smile, looking up at him, a sorrowful expression in his eyes, as if he wanted to ask R more, but couldn’t._

_R looked down at him, his eyes softening as he stared, as though trying to ingrain his Apollo’s face in his mind, “I swear to god, Apollo, I’m going to paint you so everyone can see you they way I see you.”_

_“As long as I’ve got you by my side I don’t care what other people see me like.” Apollo said with confidence, “Next summer we’ll leave the city, okay? We’ll lead the rebellion from the wastelands with all of my friends. We’ll be free together.”_

_“Next summer.” R echoed. There was no way he’d survive a year on the streets of New Paris without being caught, “Sure.”_

_“On the first day of summer, you’ll meet me here, right?” The blond looked up at him, hope swirling in his bright blue eyes. “And we’ll run away together.”_

_“Yeah.” R agreed, “I… I’ll be there.” R wished he could take the words back, or that he could tell his Apollo that he might be brainwashed by this time next year. But he didn’t want the blond to worry. He’d just lay low, forage for food, whatever until next year. It was only a year, right?_

_“I love you.” His Apollo said, breaking him out of his thoughts. He looked down at the blond, who he was still embracing, “You know that, right?”_

_“Yeah.” R said, a little unsteady, “I love you too.” He leaned down and pressed a slow kiss to his boyfriend’s lips, enjoying the moment while it lasted. He let go of the blond when he ended the kiss._

_“I should go.” Apollo said, looking as though there was nothing he’d rather do than stay, “I promised I’d be somewhere.”_

_“Go.” R said, “I’ll see you.”_

_“See you.” The blond said, and he walked out._

_R watched his Apollo leave and felt his heart sink. The blond had kept him grounded, but now… now he felt just as frantic as when he ran. He paced the room once more, thinking of what to do._

_The idea hit him. There was no way he was going to survive New Paris for a year, that was just a foolish fantasy. He’d be caught before the week was out especially if his father had people out looking for him. He’d have to make what little time he had left count._

_…_

_Operatives caught him, ten blocks away from his final teenage masterpiece. He was covered in paint. He’d been going back to leave some kind of note for his Apollo, but the mural on the back of the blond’s despised ping-pong center would have to do._

_“We’re taking you in.” One of the Operatives said, roughly walking him forward. He was handcuffed. People were gawking from their windows at the paint-covered kid being led away by a small army of Operatives._

_They met with his father a few blocks away._

_“I can’t believe you!” His father yelled. He looked at the man curiously, there was more emotion in his voice than he’d ever really heard. “You’re going to the facility, where you belong!”_

_“Is that where you sent my mom?” R demanded. He’d never known about his mother, and now seemed as good a time as any to ask._

_R’s father struck him across the face. One of the Operatives made a move, as if going to restrain the man for a blatant show of emotion. Another stopped it, R’s father was high up in the chain of command. These things could be overlooked in these situations._

_R’s face stung, but he glared up at his father defiantly, “Is it?”_

_His father made no response. He just waved at the men to take him away._

_He was brought to the facility that night, and from then on it was all he knew._

…

Grantaire gasped as the nurse pulled the wires off of his forehead. His father… he recognized the face as one of his various unknown visitors when he had no memories. And Enjolras, his Apollo… no wonder the man was so mad all the time, so untrusting. 

The nurse undid Grantaire’s restraints and he slumped forward, the pain all over his body not letting him hold himself up. 

“We’ll continue tomorrow.” Dr. Cubac said, and Grantaire wanted to scream, but he just nodded. The nurse forced him to stand and walked him, each step agonizing, back to his cell. He collapsed three times, and he was actually pretty proud it wasn’t more. 

“Tomorrow.” She said, and she left him alone in his cell to reflect on everything, and to suffer in silence. 

…

“And then I went to go see Courf and Ferre to tell them about my plan for next summer… I didn’t really mention R, at the time.” Enjolras leaned up against the car.

“What were they up to all summer?” Jehan asked, looking between his boyfriend and Courfeyrac.

“Oh, well, Ferre had an internship at Tomorrow Comes, which is where he learned a lot about how the drugs worked. And Courfeyrac was… well, putting a toaster into his car.”

“I made other modifications! And besides, that toaster was a symbol of resistance.” Courfeyrac crossed his arms.

“Was that the last time you saw him then?” Jehan ignored Courfeyrac.

“Yeah. But the next day I saw that mural on the back of the ping pong building. I tried to find him a couple times after that but I never could before the summer was over. I held on to the thought that I’d finally get to see him on the first day of the coming summer… but I waited… and he never came.” It stirred up a mixture of emotions in Enjolras’ heart, almost as if it’d happened yesterday and was not a distant memory. “I made them wait around town for a week before we finally did leave.” 

“Oh my god.” Jehan said, his voice shaky. Enjolras looked at him. The man looked so sad at the thought, “That’s just so sad and so beautiful and he was in fucking prison and you didn’t _know_.”

“I-It’s not beautiful, it’s just sad, is what it is.” Enjolras said, somewhat defensively. He didn’t ever talk much about that summer. It made him sad. It made it worse finally having found out where Grantaire had been all that time. And to make it even more unbearable, he was back _there_ because of _him_. Enjolras felt his eyes getting watery, quickly tossing Courfeyrac his wrench again, “You can finish the last little bits… I’m going to go help Combeferre with some of his things.” Enjolras turned away and left his two friends.

…

That night, Grantaire focused on his memories of the facility from before his mind was wiped. 

…

_R had been visited by his father a few times since he was brought to the facility, and every time he had asked the man the same thing. “Was this where you sent my mom?” And every time the man refused to answer._

_However, this time was different. This time, his mind was going to be wiped and his father was going to be visiting him for the last time ever, at least, the last time R would remember him._

_“He’s not going to remember who he was? Who I am?” His father was asking Dr. Cubac. The man confirmed it. “Is he ever going to be able to remember?”_

_“Well, I hate to destroy things entirely. I’m just going to be blocking them from him, it will act as though they are really gone though.” The doctor replied._

_“Can you destroy memories entirely?” His father asked._

_“I can.”_

_“Can you destroy his memory of being my son?”_

_The doctor was silent for a moment. R wanted to scream, but he kept his mouth shut for now._

_“Not entirely. That would erase a large portion of his past and we still don’t know if this is a psychological thing or a genetic thing. But I can make him forget your name and his name so that he can’t use them in the future.” The doctor replied._

_“For good?” The man asked. The doctor nodded. “Can I have a moment alone with him?”_

_“Certainly.” Dr. Cubac said, and he left the room._

_“Father, I know you hate me, but this? Wow.” R said, sarcasm leeching into his voice to mask the hurt._

_“It’s for your own good. And for mine. I can’t afford your mistakes anymore.” His father said, eyes cold. R laughed._

_“Father, can you answer my question now? I’m not going to remember.”_

_His father must have reached some vague sort of sympathy, because he actually replied._

_“Your mother was admitted here the moment you were born. She’d been off her meds for the entirety of her pregnancy because she got a notion into her head that the medication might make you have some defects.” R’s father said. “You were weak when you were born, because she was too foolish to take the medication, to make you strong. She died here a year later. They say she refused to eat her meal supplement pills and wasted away.”_

_R shook his head slightly. “Guess she was the only one in this whole city not out of their mind.”_

_His father said nothing, and left the room._

… 

Days passed and Grantaire’s torture lessened. Dr. Cubac obviously thought he’d learned his lesson, but the man had a hard on for pain and research to do, so the torture only lowered in pain levels, not time intervals. Still, Grantaire was happy (kind of) that he’d decided to stay obedient. He didn’t think his body could physically handle the first day’s pain levels all the time. 

That is, until he snapped. 

That day, a week after Grantaire had started his time there, Dr. Cubac seemed in a particularly sadistic mood. He’d been fucking with his victim all day, telling him in overly sweet tones how “good” he was being, telling him to rate his pain when Grantaire was basically non verbal, telling him, now that he remembered his father, about how his father wanted to visit and see this visceral torture. 

“Oh, I wish that pretty blond boyfriend of yours was back here.” The doctor said, earning a glance from Grantaire. “He used to scream so beautifully.” 

At this, Grantaire had to rise to the bait. “What did you do to him?” 

Dr. Cubac grinned, he’d been looking for a response all day. “Do you really want to know?” 

Grantaire nodded. 

“Just this.” The man said, and he pressed a couple buttons on the computer.

Grantaire’s mind was sent into a mess of pain and confusion, then he saw it. Jehan was dying. He tried to run to him, but he was too late, he couldn’t even catch him as he fell. 

_”It’s your fault.”_ Jehan said, his voice barely a whisper. _”You did this”_

“What did I do?” Grantaire asked, but the life left Jehan’s eyes before he could respond. He shook the man a little, but there was no waking him. He looked in the distance. Eponine was there. He ran to her, but she was falling too. She accused him of the same thing, dying in his arms. 

Gavroche followed, then Bossuet, Feuilly, Bahorel, Musichetta, Joly, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Cosette, Marius, and finally Enjolras. Oh god, Enjolras was the worst to see. They repeated, Bossuet, Eponine, and Enjolras dying the most, dying and telling him that he did this, that it was his stupidity that got them into this situation. 

When Grantaire finally awoke from the seemingly neverending nightmare, Dr. Cubac was smiling down at him. 

“You sick motherfucker!” Grantaire groaned, feeling like he was going to throw up. His throat was raw, he must have been screaming when he was unconscious. 

“That’s the 82473 that I remember.” The doctor said, sounding more cheerful, “Don’t worry, it’ll all be over soon. Without anything impeding my research, it’s going much smoother than anticipated. You’ll be rid of those pesky emotions and your silly infatuation before you know it.” 

“My infatuation?” Grantaire asked, glaring up at the doctor. 

“With the blond.” Dr. Cubac said, “With the help the research done here, I’m hoping to cure you and forty percent of the facility population of your twisted tendencies.” 

“Twisted tendencies?” Grantaire asked. 

“Your homosexuality. I’m not sure if you’ll be cured and heterosexual as you should be, or if you’ll be left indifferent, but it will be fun to find that out together.” The man said, “And it’s not like you’re going to be much of a functioning member of society afterwards anyways. Patient Zero never is.” 

Grantaire’s heart clenched. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You can’t do that!” 

“You’ll find, my dear 82473, that I can do that.” The doctor said. 

… 

Grantaire’s treatment worsened again over the next few days. There was nothing he could do to make the man _stop_ , the only thing he could do to cope was act out, and it only furthered the downward spiral he was in. Grantaire prayed that his friends would get him by the end of the week, otherwise he prayed he would die.


	12. Destroya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Amis jailbreak Grantaire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this is late guys! SpinalBaby and I (FredAndGinger) are at a steampunk convention and we just got back to the hotel room. SpinalBaby got some kickass gloves with wrenches and stuff and it looks like something out of Courfeyrac's wet dreams. So anyways, sorry it's late, but it's up now!

Enjolras sat in the back of the car beside Combeferre. He impatiently fidgeted with his gun, wearing Grantaire’s uniform, right down to the grinning mask that hid his nervous scowl. 

“We’ll get him back, don’t worry.” Combeferre said, looking at his friend, able to see through the disguise. 

“I know.” Enjolras replied stonily. 

“Almost there babes,” Courfeyrac used his radio to communicate with the other two cars that drove behind them. “Remember, just park at the Patron Minette’s base and we’ll all storm the place together.”

“What did we pay them this time?” Combeferre asked somberly. He was expecting the worst.

“Marius’s services. Part time, of course. They had Gueulemer and Babet working on the tech end for them and it was- well, not working out very well. That and Montparnasse really did miss his accounting skills.” Jehan replied, looking back at the two of them. 

The rest of the car ride passed in silence aside from the music playing on the radio. Gavroche was back home DJing and Courfeyrac had bribed him to play Greenday for Enjolras. Right now _Welcome to Paradise_ was playing. Combeferre noted that it was probably the only thing keeping Enjolras calm enough to function.

When they got to the Patron Minette’s Montparnasse personally saw them off, explaining for exactly how long and in what places the wall would be open. He seemed to be very interested in the mission, finding that when entertainment opportunities like this came along it was best not to pass them up. Marius and Cosette stayed behind with them as Les Amis stormed the city. Seeing eight men (Musichetta was an honorary man, in that moment) running through the wall at full speed, fully armed, in the brightest most obnoxious clothing ever and on their way to the facility was enough to confuse the city residents and cause a slight panic. They scattered enough to give the Amis a clear path without having to knock over too many people. 

Shooting the guard staff and making it into the building was the easy part for the rebels. Inciting a riot was a little bit harder. That was intrusted to Bahorel and Courfeyrac. They went down to the minimum security area where the newest patients were kept, the least drugged up of the facility. While Bahorel kicked down doors and stirred them up Courfeyrac tossed a grenade containing the resistance drug in vapor form within it. Soon the whole first floor was in absolute chaos and most the Operatives were caught in it.

The rest of the Amis, minus Enjolras and Combeferre made their way around the facility doing anything to cause havoc and destruction, also using their own resistance drug grenades. There was fists flying, alarms blaring, and firing from both sides, giving the duo more than enough time and distraction to get to Grantaire’s cell in the maximum security area. Combeferre and Enjolras radioed Marius as they made it to the hall.

“Marius, we’re here, open the doors.” Combeferre hoped that his voice was loud enough over the static of the radio. There was no verbal response but soon all the doors flew open and Enjolras began frantically looking in every one. That’s when he spotted Dr. Cubac, quickly rounding the corner at the end of the hall, freezing dead in his tracks as he saw the blond revolutionary. Enjolras aimed his gun right for the man’s head. 

“Where is R?”

“R? I don’t know about anyone by that name.” The doctor said, backing up slightly. He made a little signal to a nurse and she ran off. 

“You know exactly who the fuck I’m talking about, Cubac.” Enjolras took a threatening step forward, “So lead the way.” He shot off his gun, intentionally missing Dr. Cubac’s foot by less than an inch “Step to it.”

The doctor sighed, a little dramatic, and led them to a chamber where Grantaire was strapped to a chair with wires attached to his forehead. The nurse was there, and she had just finished frantically typing something on a computer. She resolutely pressed the enter button as they walked in, before backing away. 

Grantaire shuddered a little, as though he’d been shocked, before just staring blankly ahead. 

“What the fuck did you just do?” Enjolras spat, giving the nurse a dangerous look, but he kept his gun on Dr. Cubac. Combeferre put a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder, but too, kept his gun at the ready.

“I just… I wiped his personality.” She said, looking nervous. 

“You what?” Enjolras’ hands trembled with rage. Were they too late?

“It’s reversible!” She said desperately, “Cubac has the access! Please don’t shoot me, I have a child!” She hunched her shoulders as if preparing to be shot anyways. 

Enjolras looked like in the heat of the moment he may have considered it, but Combeferre shouted at her to run, and she willingly complied. Enjolras turned his attention back to Dr. Cubac.

“Fix this. Your life depends on it.” 

Combeferre nervously nodded, also keeping his gun on Dr. Cubac.

“How do you know that I _can_ fix him?” Dr. Cubac said, surveying Combeferre more than Enjolras, “She could have been lying.” 

“If she was lying, you’re going to die.” Enjolras said, “You have ten seconds.” 

Dr. Cubac looked directly into Combeferre’s eyes, “Is that you, Combeferre?” 

“Nine.” Enjolras said, impatient. 

Combeferre didn’t respond, but his gun shook slightly in his hand. 

“Eight.” 

“Combeferre, you worked with me!” Cubac said, “My little intern-”

“Seven” 

“You can’t let this man shoot me, after all I did for you-”

“Six.”

“I was so worried when your parents told me you’d run away-”

“Five.” 

“Pick up the laptop.” Combeferre ordered. Dr. Cubac did as told. 

“Four.” 

“Let my friend go.” Combeferre said, “And then we can discuss if you’re going to be shot or not.” 

“Three.” 

Cubac started typing and Enjolras stopped counting. He looked over to Combeferre as if to ask what the hell he was thinking. Combeferre shot him back a look to tell him not to act like an idiot. They returned their attention to the doctor. 

He pressed enter with the same conviction the nurse had only moments before. Grantaire jolted in his chair once more. He blinked a couple times and looked vaguely around the room. 

“Apollo?” He groaned, catching sight of Enjolras. The revolutionary rushed to his side, starting to take off the restraints. Combeferre kept his gun trained on Dr. Cubac. 

“Can you walk?” Enjolras helped Grantaire out of the chair, “We’re going to get you out of here.”

Combeferre could hear Enjolras coaxing the dispondent Grantaire up and all but carrying the taller man to the door. He didn’t pay much attention though, he was to focused on the man in front of him. He’d been so close to the doctor, how could he be this cruel to one of his friends? 

“Take care of him.” Enjolras said from the door, before leaving with Grantaire. Combeferre remembered all too well where his loyalties lie in that moment, knowing that Enjolras was trusting him with something much bigger than it seemed. This man had tortured Grantaire, and seemingly Enjolras himself as well. And Enjolras was about to let Combeferre decide his fate. 

“Am I free to go?” Dr. Cubac asked, after a long moment of them staring at each other. 

“I just have one question, and then you’re free to go.” Combeferre said. 

“No matter my answer?” The doctor asked. 

“No matter the answer.” Combeferre nodded. 

“Fine.” 

“Did… did anything I helped you work on… did it help with whatever you were doing to my friends?” Combeferre asked, willing his voice to stay steady as he asked the question. 

“Yes. Mostly at the end. I had your artist friend in my custody at that point.” The doctor said. 

“Thank you. You’re free to go.” Combeferre said, not lowering his arm. 

“Thank-”

Combeferre fired, hitting the man directly between the eyes. 

“Free to go to hell.” 

Combeferre stared at the body of his mentor, before reminding himself that he had to get going. He was about to run out after Enjolras when he noticed the bottles of pills all along the walls. There just happened to be a bag next to a desk, probably Cubac’s. He dumped all the papers and notes out, filling the bag with all the pill bottles and surgical tools he could fit. He grabbed the laptop for good measure. If they couldn’t get anything off of it, at least he could give Marius some faster technology. 

…

Bossuet, Musichetta, and Joly were fucking shit up, and trying not to hurt themselves in the process, when they got radioed from Combeferre. 

_”We found R, regroup at the front.”_

They turned towards each other, shrugged, and fought their way to the front. 

…

Jehan was in the middle of trying to extract an Operative from where it was clinging to Bahorel’s back when Combeferre radioed to tell them to regroup. 

“I’m working on it!” He yelled, despite the fact that Combeferre couldn’t hear him, as he was not pressing the button. 

Courfeyrac was wrapped up in his own little fight off to the side, but Jehan couldn’t exactly spare the mental capacity to be worried about him when he was already worried about how much air Bahorel could not breathe before he just passed out. 

“This is the stupidest thing we’ve ever done.” Jehan commented. He heard Courfeyrac’s gun go off behind him, finally. 

“And the most romantic!” His boyfriend added, rushing over to help him help Bahorel. 

Eventually they got him free and made their way to the front. 

…

“Oh thank god.” Enjolras said when he saw Bahorel approach their meeting place, “Can you please carry him?” 

Grantaire had gone somewhat limp in Enjolras’ arms. Bahorel picked him up. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Musichetta asked, looking at him in concern. 

“Probably.” Combeferre said, “But we have to go.”


	13. The Kids From Yesterday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Amis gather up their things and get ready for the journey north.

Somehow the group had managed to get past the increased number of Operatives outside the facility and were just trying to escape with as few injuries as possible. They got into their cars on the other side of the wall, speeding off. It wasn’t long before the Ops were visible in their rearview mirror. 

“Can’t we go any faster?” Enjolras complained.

“This is the fastest car in the wastelands.” Courfeyrac said, “They won’t catch us.” 

They sat in silence for a moment as Courfeyrac swerved out of the way of random shit in the road and they tried to keep the other two Amis cars in their rearview mirror. 

“Apollo.” Grantaire said, causing everyone to look back at him (including Courfeyrac who almost drove them off the road). 

“Yeah?” Enjolras asked, taking the artist’s hand. 

“I didn’t think you were going to come for me.” Grantaire admitted, “I thought I was going to be stuck there forever.” 

“R, I’d come find you even if the sun went black.” The leader said. 

Courfeyrac looked like he was going to make a joke, but Jehan covered his mouth. 

“I was just… It was so fucking bad there, he… everything was worse this time, I didn’t think things could get worse.” Grantaire babbled. Enjolras’s heart dropped. 

“You’re alright now, Grantaire.” He said, running his fingers through the other man’s hair. “Everything’s alright.”

“And they showed me what they did to you, and I’m so sorry, I never should have said anything about there being a cure in the city.” Grantaire painfully lifted his hands to cover his face. 

“Hey, hey, I’m fine!” Enjolras assured him, removing the artist’s hands from his face, “And I’m cured now!” 

Grantaire shook his head, as though disbelieving that Enjolras was actually fine. Enjolras lowered his mask (Grantaire’s mask) and smiled at him. 

“See? Fine.”

“Is that my mask?” Grantaire asked, as though noticing for the first time. 

“I mean, you did give it to me.” Enjolras said, “Remember?” 

“I remember.” Grantaire said, and his eyes suddenly widened as if a thought occurred to him, “Enj, Apollo, I remember everything!” 

Courfeyrac and Jehan gasped front the front seats. 

“You remember everything?” Enjolras asked, surprised, “You remember the summer?” 

“Yeah,” Grantaire said, “I remember the summer and I remember you and I remember all the paintings and…” He looked curiously at the blond, “Did you propose to me?” 

Enjolras’s heart soared. He leaned down and captured Grantaire’s lips in a kiss. The cynic seemed shocked for a moment, but eagerly returned it, lifting his hands to tangle them in his Apollo’s hair. 

Jehan made a quiet squealing noise from the passenger seat. 

“So is that a yes?” Grantaire asked when they broke apart. 

Enjolras nodded, his face tinged pink because of their audience. “Like, the second time I saw you.” 

“You were such a dork.” Grantaire laughed, wincing in pain. Laughing hurt. 

“Oh man, I could tell you _stories_ about how much of a dork this kid was.” Courfeyrac said from the front seat. “I think this calls for a celebration.”

He pressed a button, in the same place where the toast button had been in his previous Baby, and four pieces of half-burned toast popped out in Enjolras and Grantaire’s faces, like burned bread confetti. 

“What?” Grantaire asked weakly, looking around as if he only just noticed that other people were in the car and that he was in a car at all. 

“Welcome to Baby 2.0, double the bread, double the fun!” Courfeyrac cackled from the front. 

“Oh my god, where did you even get bread?” Jehan asked. 

“I have my sources.” 

The two continued their conversation in the front seat, and Enjolras looked back down to Grantaire. 

“So, if we’re not burned at the stake by the Ops, would you?” He asked.

“Would I what?” Grantaire asked, looking up at him.

“Marry me? Vegas used to be a place where people ran away together.” Enjolras beamed.

“Dude, I’ve been in love with you since the first time I saw you. And the second first time I saw you. I want to be with you forever, of course I’ll marry you.” The artist replied.

Enjolras leaned down like he was going to kiss him again, but the car swerved violently. 

“Keep your eyes on the road!” Jehan scolded, obviously having been gawking at the two of them as well. 

“But it’s just so _romantic_.” Courfeyrac sighed, glancing back at them in the rearview once more, “My two little babies all grown up and getting married.” 

“Oh my god.” Enjolras sighed. Grantaire laughed lightly. “But in all seriousness guys, we’ve got to skip town, Tomorrow Comes isn’t going to let us off lightly this time.” They had only just lost the Ops a few miles back. 

“I heard there’s more to the north.” Jehan said. “It’s only rumors, but Tomorrow Comes isn’t going to come after us if we reach the edge of the wastelands.”

“You mean we’re going to leave everything behind?” Grantaire asked, rubbing his head a little.

Enjolras nodded, “We have to. Jehan, radio the others that we’re going to stop back at Valjean’s only to grab as much of our stuff as we can and run.”

“What about Marius?” Courfeyrac asked. 

“He’ll be safe with Montparnasse, he already knew this might happen. I told him we’d meet up after he worked off his ‘debt’ to ‘Parnasse.” Jehan cleared his throat, “It’ll be a few months, we worked it out with Montparnasse already.”

Enjolras nodded a little, “Yeah. We’re lucky Montparnasse likes him so much. And he has Cosette.”

“That kid would be happy anywhere as long as he has Cosette.” Courfeyrac commented. “Where’s Valjean going?” 

“He knows a few hiding places the Ops haven’t discovered.” Jehan said, “But he also doesn’t go out and do stuff, he can just stay hidden.” 

…

The car ride continued. Grantaire told his friends about Javert’s reluctance to admit him into the facility. Jehan and Courfeyrac told the artist about how they’d helped Javert to not die in the bombings. 

They got home shortly and ran out of the car, going to grab as much stuff as they could carry. Enjolras helped Grantaire to a chair and set him to keep watch with a gun. 

“Here.” Enjolras said, giving the smile mask back to Grantaire. 

“I can’t take it, you need something.” He protested.

“I’ll borrow one of Ferre’s bandanas. It’s not like everyone and their mother hasn’t seen my face by now.” Enjolras said, forcing the mask into Grantaire’s hand and running off. Grantaire put it on. He already felt better, even though he was still in the Tomorrow Comes uniform, at least he had this. 

Grantaire watched as all his friends hurried past. Bossuet and Joly stopped momentarily to ask him if he was feeling alright. He’d nodded even though it was a lie. The Amis were loading up the cars with all the stuff they couldn’t leave behind. and it was quite a lot. 

Grantaire zoned out a few times at his post. Not that it mattered, his friends seemed pretty alert. The conversation with Enjolras in his car had cut through the haze in his mind, but now that his Apollo was off doing whatever, he was left back in the foggy, not-quite-lucid state he’d been in every day at the facility. It scared him, now that he knew the alertness, the emotions he was missing. 

He zoned back in when Courfeyrac handed Gavroche (who could walk just fine) to Combeferre and told him to “Take care of my baby”. Combeferre just sighed and took Gavroche to the car he was going to be taking with Bahorel and set him inside. 

Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta left with their full car. Combeferre, Bahorel, and Gavroche followed shortly, leaving Courfeyrac, Jehan, Grantaire, and Enjolras. 

“Are we leaving?” Grantaire asked Courfeyrac, who stood next to him to guard the door. 

“Not yet, sweetie. Enjolras is going to sign off. Jehan’s setting up a barebones radio set right now.” Courfeyrac replied.


	14. Goodnight Dr. Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras signs off... for now anyways.

Enjolras put the radio on air, taking in a deep breath before speaking, “Hello everyone. This is Enjolras here for our last broadcast before a hopefully brief hiatus. Everyone who can be safe is safe, right now so there’s no need for you guys to worry.” He paused for a moment, trying to think of what to say. 

… 

Downstairs, Courfeyrac and Grantaire noticed some Operatives pulling up in two cars. The group chasing them must have fanned out to search a larger area, leaving these lone cars to find them. 

Grantaire lifted his gun and Courfeyrac did the same. Despite the pain in his arm, the pain it took to move anything, Grantaire held his gun straight, knowing he’d need to be a better shot if he was going to be sitting through most of this fight. He internally cursed Dr. Cubac and Tomorrow Comes as a whole. This wouldn’t be a problem if the man didn’t have such sadistic tendencies. 

Ops moved in and they began to shoot, taking down a couple before the Ops started to duck around the bunker. 

“They’re going to try to get in from the back.” Courfeyrac said, “Are you okay here alone?” 

“I’ll be fine.” Grantaire said, shooting another Operative in the shoulder as he spoke, “Go.” 

Courfeyrac nodded and ran off. 

…

“Before we go out to face the great unknown, I want to leave you with this. No matter what happens. If you get captured or if you’re brainwashed and back in the city, even if it seems like the worst is happening, you have to know… If you’ve lived a good life, someone out there is going to break their fucking neck trying to find you and drag you out of whatever hell Tomorrow Comes is putting you through.”

…

Courfeyrac grabbed Jehan, who took off his headphones so he could hear his boyfriend. 

“There’s Operatives, they’re coming around the back. I don’t want to leave Grantaire alone for too long, but…”

“I’ve got them.” Jehan said, kissing the other man on the cheek and putting his headphones down. Hopefully nothing went wrong while he was away. He signaled to Enjolras that he was going to be alone, receiving a thumbs up from the blond. 

…

“What I’m trying to say is, never give up hope. As long as you’re alive, at least. Looks like we’ve got some company, so I’ll have to sign off for now. But remember, as our friends down at Tomorrow Comes love to remind us, ‘The Future is Inevitable.’ They can’t keep it from happening any more than we can. This is Enjolras, and all of the Amis, signing off.” 

Enjolras leaned over Jehan’s side and pressed the play button. A CD started playing old orchestra music over the radio. Valjean had said it was called the Star-Spangled Banner and it was the national anthem of whatever came before Tomorrow Comes, whatever used to be in Nevada. Enjolras thought the song was uplifting and beautiful. 

He stood and soaked in the sound for a moment, hearing the noise from laser guns going off in the background while he listened, before frantically packing up everything he could into a backpack. Jehan had made sure that everything that was set up here was disposable, but that didn’t mean they _wanted_ to leave it all behind. 

…

Grantaire could hear the sound of a strange song he’d never heard before playing through the bunker. Courfeyrac had come back to him, but the man was already out the front door, trying to see if more Operatives were on the way and shooting the ones hiding by the sides of the building. 

Grantaire yelled as one of the Operatives shot him in the side as he tried to dive out of the way of the blast. It was just a graze, but it burned badly. He saw Courfeyrac shoot the Op that had shot him as he got himself into a better position to keep fighting. 

“You okay?” The other man called out. 

“I’m fine!” Grantaire returned, before gritting his teeth. He’d taken worse at the facility, now was no time to be a baby. 

…

Jehan was backing into the building, leading Operatives in as he ducked behind things. He had to warn Enjolras that there were too many, they had to get out now. The Ops stormed in, a few running right past where he was hiding behind a mattress to go shut down the radio show. Jehan shot one in the back, but the others didn’t seem to care. 

… 

Enjolras pulled out his gun. Operatives were in the building now, he could hear them. One made it to his area, where the radio was still blasting the old national anthem. The Operative shot the radio console, effectively stopping the song and creating a loud feedback noise in its place. 

Enjolras shot him and ran, the noise chasing him all the way to the door. He got to Grantaire, who was sitting on the floor unmoving, and his heart stopped as the noise stopped. 

Then Grantaire shot one of the Operatives through the door, and Enjolras’s heart started beating again. 

“Where’s Courf?” He asked. Grantaire looked up at him with relief in his eyes. 

“He ran out to the car to get it started! Where’s Jehan?” 

“I’m right here!” Jehan said, nearly giving both the men a heart attack. “Enj, you’ve got to watch your back when you run away, I swear to god!” 

Enjolras looked like he was going to respond, but Courfeyrac honking a somehow more obnoxious horn than the last cut him off.

“We’d better get going.” Jehan said, helping Enjolras get Grantaire into a standing position. They dragged the man between them as Courfeyrac drove the car right up to the front door. 

The last of the Amis sped off into the distance, leaving the last place they knew behind. Enjolras watched as the Operatives chased them and the bunker disappeared into the distance.


	15. Vampire Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Amis plan their next move...

When they got to the meet up point to camp for the night Joly was swamped with people to treat. It seemed that Bossuet had gotten shot pretty badly in the arm when they were escaping from the facility, Combeferre had a couple broken fingers from punching an Op with his gun, Courfeyrac had sprained his ankle running to the car after he tripped in his high heeled boots, Jehan had been just grazed with a shot from one of the Operative’s guns, Bahorel seemed to have a concussion, and Musichetta had a gash in her arm from one of the rioting patients. 

Joly had patched up Grantaire first and sent him to sit with Enjolras to give him space to work, and to give them some alone time. 

“So, what’s the plan now?” Grantaire asked. He’d somewhat returned to himself during the car ride, and the darkness of the desert was helping with his concentration. 

“We’re going to be heading north, to the edge of the wastelands. We’ve been hearing some rumors of something past Tomorrow Comes’ boundaries.” Enjolras said, sighing into the cool night air. 

“Do we have supplies for that?” Grantaire asked, “Won’t that take up a lot of fuel? I’m sure there’s no shops on the boundaries.” 

“What did you think you were sitting on top of on the ride over?” Enjolras inquired. He was leaning against Grantaire, as the two sat in the sand, their fingers interlaced.

“Honestly, I just didn’t want to question it.” He said, fake-serious. “It could have been Courfeyrac’s supply of lube or something.”

“That was in the trunk,” Enjolras teased. Grantaire laughed. 

“So, north. A vast expanse of desert and only these idiots for company. How are we going to survive?” He sighed dramatically. 

“As long as I’ve got you, I think I’ll manage.” Enjolras smiled, nuzzling Grantaire’s cheek. 

“I’ve missed you, Apollo. I’ve missed remembering you. I missed missing you.” The artist said, leaning down and kissing the leader. 

“I missed you remembering me too.” Enjolras replied, returning the kiss. He was just glad to have finally gotten Grantaire back, and safe, with all his memories. It was more than he could have ever asked for.

“Did you try to meet up with me? When you left the city?” Grantaire asked, “I mean, it’s fine if you didn’t, I did kind of abandon you without telling you where I was going…” 

“Are you kidding? Of course I waited. A whole extra week before Courfeyrac and Combeferre finally convinced me to leave. I’d just hoped that you were okay.” Enjolras said softly, “If I would have known where you were we would have stormed the facility that same day.”

Grantaire felt his eyes tear up a little. He reined it in. God, how did he become such a sap? “You waited a week for me? What happened to our hideout?” 

“They never found it, as far as I know… but that was so many years ago…” Enjolras looked up at the sky, “But we’ll find somewhere better now. And when we get there, you’ll paint all the walls again, won’t you?”

Grantaire nodded, “Yeah, oh man, I can’t wait to paint again. I can’t wait to paint you all over everything we can find.” He laughed a little, “I’m turning into Marius. I want to paint your name and put little hearts around it like he does in his notebooks.” 

“Like all those hearts all over the city?” Enjolras teased, “Maybe Marius gets it from _you_.”

Grantaire gasped, “Perish the thought!” He took Enjolras’s hand. “I just… I can’t believe this is all real.”

“Neither can I.” Enjolras admitted. “I thought I’d lost you for forever all those years ago.” 

“I love you.” Grantaire said, and he pressed a soft kiss to Enjolras’s lips once more. “I’ll love you forever. They could make me a fucking vegetable again and I’d still love you. You’ll never really lose me, even if you wanted to.” 

“I like you much better as a functioning human being, but still,” Enjolras cuddled against him. “It’s cold out tonight, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” 

Grantaire wrapped his arm around Enjolras. Jehan had given him a sweater and they had some spare boots and stuff, but none of it was remotely warm enough in the cold desert night. Bahorel seemed to be trying to start a fire closer to the others, who were currently using a battery operated lamp for sight. 

“I hear, that north of here, there’s more people like us. People that believe in freedom, love, and beauty.” He hugged Grantaire back, trying to warm up his boyfriend.

“I’m ready for that. It’ll be a nice change of pace.” The artist said.

Bahorel got the fire going and the other Amis let out a cheer, huddling around it for warmth. Joly was finishing up patching up their friends, and they were breaking out some food and water. 

“Want to go join them?” Grantaire asked, gesturing to their friends.

“Yeah, let’s.” Enjolras smiled, standing up, and offering his hand to Grantaire. 

“We can tell them that we got engaged in the back of Courf’s new car.” R reminded him and his Apollo laughed. Despite everything that had happened, it looked like things were going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god it's really over, I'm honestly pretty sad right now ;__; Sad but... also really excited because this is totally not the end at all! FredAndGinger and I have more coming for you right away~ Not only do we have the super exciting backstories of the Amis (which will be posted every Friday, starting today!) [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6285184/chapters/14402128), but we also have a full length sequel in the works~ Thank you all for your incredible support throughout this <3 Seriously, we love you guys. When we first posted this we were honestly worried no one would care enough to even read it, and now look at us~! We've got nearly 1,000 hits~

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based off of My Chemical Romance’s album/universe “Danger Days”. If you’ve never listened to it we highly suggest you check it out, but you don’t need to listen to it to understand the fic or anything since both FredAndGinger and I took a lot of artistic liberty or whatever you call that rule-bending nonsense. We’ll be doing updates every other day, so look forward to them~!
> 
> Also we made some references for the character designs [here](http://sta.sh/01ocquy3281m) and the locations/other material [here](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1V3hRfCAN11W8ov0Gs1yGsVTop-iwrfcskAEHkvQXoTc/edit) so please check those out as well~
> 
> Art  
> [Danger Days Sketch Dump](http://spinalbaby.tumblr.com/post/140306823949/a-shitty-little-sketch-dump-from-danger-days-a) by SpinalBaby  
> [Planetary GO!](http://spinalbaby.tumblr.com/post/139777629519/a-piece-of-art-from-fredandginger-and-my-newest) by SpinalBaby  
> [Broom Closet Meetings](http://spinalbaby.tumblr.com/post/140395296094/the-trio-having-their-secret-revolutionary) by SpinalBaby  
> [Danger Days Couples (And Trio) Sketch Dump](http://spinalbaby.tumblr.com/post/140602046934/a-sketch-dump-of-the-couples-and-trio-in-danger) by SpinalBaby  
> [Commando Sketch Dump](http://spinalbaby.tumblr.com/post/140723443909/after-drawing-all-the-couples-sketches-of-the-amis) by SpinalBaby  
> [Thank you for over 1,000 hits~!](http://spinalbaby.tumblr.com/post/141344879629/i-wanted-to-do-a-little-celebratory-sketch-for) by SpinalBaby  
> [Courfeyrac Sketch Dump](http://spinalbaby.tumblr.com/post/141446829979/courfeyrac-sketch-dump-from-fredandginger-and-my) by SpinalBaby  
> [The Amis](http://spinalbaby.tumblr.com/post/143019710169/after-twelve-hours-of-work-and-so-many-references) by SpinalBaby  
> [Pew Pew Motherfucker](http://spinalbaby.tumblr.com/post/145485568139/so-when-writing-fanfic-at-3am-on-a-weeknight-with) by SpinalBaby  
> [Holy Fuck](http://novartss.tumblr.com/post/145521736063/this-fucking-meme-kept-showing-up-on-my-dash-and-i) by Novartss  
> [Siblings](http://novartss.tumblr.com/post/145534772643/okay-im-done-now-i-just-really-wanted-to-draw) by Novartss  
> [Regret](http://novartss.tumblr.com/post/145941422673/if-u-want-context-ask-spinalbaby-and) by Novartss  
> [The OT3](http://novartss.tumblr.com/post/147458708358/i-just-wanted-an-excuse-to-doodle-the-trio-and-i) by Novartss  
> Read more of the Danger Days universe and the Amis stories by reading the rest of the series.


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